


Closer to the Heart

by darkjaden825698



Category: Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Also the major character death is once again just in relation to Esteban, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, High School, I don't want to say much more without giving too much away, I love Sean too much to put him through too much pain, I mean it's a fic about Sean dealing with his grief of course it's going to be sad lol, Like there are gonna be happy moments just like in the game but like, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Sad, Sean Diaz is bi as fuck and is just too much of a disaster to realize it, Sexuality Crisis, Telekinesis, You will cry but you're gonna be okay, but don't worry, but that comes later and isn't the focus of the story, this fic is sad y'all, well not the main focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkjaden825698/pseuds/darkjaden825698
Summary: Sean watched his father die right in front of him. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he's been sent away to live with his grandparents in Beaver Creek, leaving behind his home, his friends, and everything he ever loved, save for his brother, who may or may not be responsible for the death of the police officer that killed their dad. As Sean tries to balance his new life in Beaver Creek with his overwhelming grief and anger, alongside keeping his brother's powers a secret, he struggles to keep his head above water. But if he keeps pushing everyone away, who will be there to save him if he drowns?==AU where Sean and Daniel are sent to live with Claire and Stephen instead of running away==
Relationships: Daniel Diaz & Chris Eriksen, Daniel Diaz & Sean Diaz, Sean Diaz & Lyla Park, Sean Diaz & Original Character(s), Sean Diaz/Original Character(s), maybe idk jury's still out on that one
Comments: 31
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is!! I've been working on this fic for probably about two months now? It's still not finished but I have quite a bit of it down, so expect weekly chapters on Saturdays! If you want to get access to chapters a week early check out my twitter @darkjaden825698 for more information! :D
> 
> So, this fic is...well, if you read the tags you'll know, it's sad. It's about Sean dealing with his grief and anger and it's really tough sometimes, but if you know me, you'll know I love Sean too much to let him suffer for too long. There's going to be a lot of happiness in this fic, too.
> 
> Anywhere, here's the playlist I made for this fic, with songs that I felt fit the tone and themes of the story. Some of the songs may feature in the story itself but most are just songs I would listen to to get me pumped to write, get me inspired. So yeah, here you go: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4QPUy4JUZLuL1WdLglkxFr?si=1deRM2aMQ6SORCyc7Om5aQ

Sean has never been one for long good-byes.

Even saying good-bye to Lyla, his best friend in the entire world, before getting into the car with the lady from social services, all they did was hug for about thirty seconds and fist bump on the way out. Less of a good-bye and more of a see-you-later. Because for them, it was always going to be see-you-later. As the car pulls away, the first thing he does is text Lyla how much he already misses her.

“Take as much time as you need,” Social Services Lady says, looking over at Sean in the backseat from the rearview mirror. Sean can’t be bothered to remember her name, but she’s nice. Sympathetic. “Anything you don’t take will be sold at an estate sale and liquidated.”

“You’re gonna melt all our stuff?!” Daniel worries.

“No, dude,” says Sean. “It means they’re gonna sell our shit to pay off Dad’s debts and stuff.”

“The rest will be deposited into a savings account for you, Sean, which you’ll gain access to once you turn 18.”

“Cool,” Sean deadpans. What good is that money gonna do if he won’t even see it for another two years?

They pull up to the street, which is still blocked off by police tape. Sean shivers at the sight of the pavement cracked and covered in potholes, at the telephone pole snapped and hanging by a thread. The car parks by the curb, and as Sean opens the door and steps out, his shoes touch the cement, and it crunches under his feet. And he can’t help thinking, _Daniel did this._

The whole scene played out so quickly, Sean barely even remembers what actually went down. It all just appears in his mind in quick flashes of still images, like a slideshow: him shoving Brett, the cop shooting Dad, waking up in a haze surrounded by destruction, crying over Dad’s body, calling Lyla, being tended to and questioned by the police. 

The worst was having to explain it all to Daniel. He woke up about an hour after Sean, with no memory of anything after Sean pushed Brett. Most of it involved the police officer filling in the numerous blanks in Sean’s story. Everything in his memory about that day is kind of fuzzy, except for one thing:

Daniel shouted, and he blew the police officer away.

He blew _all_ of them away. Sean got knocked back and hit his head, but Matthews, the police officer, got the worst of it. The last thing Sean remembers clearly before passing out is seeing his mangled body on the ground.

Sean is the only one who knows this. Daniel doesn’t even seem to remember what happened. He hasn’t told anybody about this, not even Lyla, and he tells her _everything_. How would he even begin to tell her about it, anyway? If it weren’t for the fact that his street was completely wrecked and Kindred Matthews’ cause of death was officially “internal bleeding due to extreme blunt force trauma,” Sean might actually believe his mind made the whole thing up.

A policewoman with a stern face meets them at the door. Sean simmers in anger at seeing her, at the thought of being close to a _fucking_ cop, right after his dad was shot by one. She nods at them and opens the door, following them inside.

Stepping into the house, Sean is hit with how familiar and yet how different everything feels. It’s like Dad is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The police totally fucking trashed the place when they did their investigation of it. The couch cushions are upturned, books have been thrown haphazardly from the shelves, and their kitchen cupboards have been completely emptied onto the floor. It’s seriously like an entirely different house. Dad always made Sean keep things tidy—even though he never gave Daniel shit about picking up his toys—so seeing the house in such a state of disarray...the police may as well have just pissed on Dad’s grave. 

Sean runs his fingers along the countertop where, not 24 hours prior, Dad and Daniel argued over who should get the last chock-o-crisp, and Sean had played the mediator.

Who could have predicted that an hour later, Dad would be dead, a cop would be killed, and their street would be totally destroyed?

“We’ve contacted your grandparents,” Social Services Lady told them last night. Lyla’s mom had offered to let them stay at her house while CPS figured everything out, and Sean was actually surprised at how quickly they’d gotten a response. CPS Lady called them just as they were getting settled in. The hot cocoa Mrs. Park had made for them was still cooling off. “They’ve agreed to take you in. We’ll be around sometime in the morning after the investigations have been completed to let you pick up some of your things before transferring you to their residence.”

He hasn’t seen Claire and Stephen in years, not since Mom...since Karen left, so he wasn’t sure if they would actually want anything to do with him and Daniel. Apparently they do, which is sort of like a rough concrete wall with a small section sanded down—nice to feel in the moment, but artificial, and surrounded by rocky, scratchy pavement.

The policewoman follows Sean around the room. He tries to keep his emotions in check, but every footstep he hears behind him, anger bubbles inside his stomach like the pot of chili he once tried to help Dad make. He left the burner on high for too long and it all boiled up and spilled over the top. He and Dad were cleaning chili stains out of their clothes for weeks. Sean is really trying not to let himself get to that point, but come on man. A cop just shot his fucking dad, forgive him for being a bit distrustful of this woman’s intentions.

“Is there anything we’re not allowed to take?” Daniel asks.

The policewoman’s face softens just a bit, and she kneels down to reach eye-level with Daniel. “Well, obviously you’re not going to be able to take your whole room with you. So why don’t you choose some of the things you most want to bring with you? Some of your favorite toys, maybe a stuffed animal, anything that will help you feel more comfortable in the new home.”

“Okay,” Daniel sighs. The policewoman tries to lean in the doorway to watch Daniel as he combs through his room, but Sean steps in front of her before she can, and her expression immediately stiffens back up.

“Do you need help with anything, _enano?_ ” Sean asks.

“Excuse me,” the policewoman says. “Try and speak English around me, please. I’m responsible for you kids right now, and I need to know what you’re saying.”

Sean rolls his eyes. “It’s just a nickname I have for him. Back off.”

The policewoman scowls at him. “Listen, kid. I’m not gonna start shit, because I know your dad just died, but we lost a good man yesterday, too. So don’t give me any lip, okay?”

Sean tries not to scoff at this, but he can’t stop himself. “Yeah, okay. A good man wouldn’t shoot an unarmed civilian just because he’s not white,” he says under his breath.

The cop opens her mouth to say something, but Daniel butts in.“Sean!” he cries, tugging on his sleeve. “Just...let’s not get in trouble, okay?”

A sigh escapes Sean. He unclenches the fist he’d been holding. “Yeah, alright, _enan—_ uhh, alright, Daniel. Let’s just find some toys and some clothes to bring to grandma and grandpa’s okay?”

Sean helps Daniel pick out some of his toys, and puts a bunch of them in a large, black garbage bag. The guest room at Claire’s is pretty small, from what he remembers, so Sean tries to convince Daniel not to bring too many. They also pick out a couple picture books for him. Sean thinks he’s too old to be reading picture books, but in a time like this, the kid needs that bit of childhood familiarity that only Dr. Seuss can provide.

When they’re done in Daniel’s room, Sean pushes past the officer—receiving a scoff in response—and heads into his own room. It has been thoroughly torn apart, his drawers emptied and overturned, his wardrobe door nearly ripped off, his clothes thrown all over the floor. Is it just him, or does his room seem to have been searched a lot more thoroughly and violently than Daniel’s?

When they were questioned yesterday—which Sean had to continually remind them was illegal without a lawyer present until they finally called in a public defender for them—they were cleared of any suspicion. Their lawyer was surprisingly thorough, and managed to convince the interrogator that he and Daniel are simply victims, which they fucking are. But clearly, the investigators had a different theory, a baseless one at that. Of course they already thought Sean was guilty.

Sean scans his room quickly. It already looks so different from the sketch he made of it yesterday. The letters on his lightbox are scattered all over the place, his lava lamp is knocked over, his sheets are rustled—were they seriously searching for shit under his mattress?—and all the junk he’d been hiding under his bed instead of cleaning up has been shoved to the middle of the room. 

His laptop is still open, and seems to be intact, which is good. There would have been hell to pay if one of those pigs broke his computer. Dad got him that laptop for his thirteenth birthday, and it cost like two grand. That’s a lot of money for a single father working as a mechanic. 

Sean closes it and unplugs the charger from the wall, stuffing both of them in his backpack. He unplugs his light box and starts picking up the letter cards. Some of them are cracked, but most of them remain intact. He’s about to reach for his upturned nightstand drawer when…

Shit.

He had weed in there.

He picks ups the drawer and scours the contents that have spilled onto the floor. He picks up Gunther, his old favorite toy, and quietly puts him in the backpack, too. He moves around some condoms (embarrassing), and his old phone, but there’s no weed. He checks the drawer underneath his desk and—shit! The pipe is gone, too.

“If you’re worried about your weed, don’t be,” the policewoman says. Sean actually forgot she was here for a second (and wishes she really wasn’t), and whips his head around to face her. “Look, you’re just a kid. Everybody I know smoked pot at your age. We just confiscated it, but you’re not in trouble for it. Especially considering what happened yesterday. Bigger fish to fry and all that.”

“Thanks,” Sean monotones.

At least he won’t get in trouble, but man, he could really use a hit right about now.

Sean pulls some pictures off his corkboard, throws some clothes in a garbage bag, and grabs his iPod from its stand. He debates for a second whether or not he should take the sound system it was plugged into, but decides against it, instead opting to just grab a pair of headphones. There probably wouldn’t be room for it at Claire’s anyway.

When he’s done, the cop steps out of the way and Sean rejoins Daniel in the living room.

“Sean, can we take the PlayBox?”

Sean rolls his eyes. Fucking really? Dad just died and he’s thinking about Goddamn video games? He almost wants to chew the kid out for it, yell at him for worrying about such trivial shit. But then he remembers how Daniel reacted to seeing their dad shot, which was to blow up the entire street, and decides it’s probably best not to prod him.

“I don’t know, dude,” Sean says. “It’s kind of big and bulky, and it could get broken on the way over.”

“I’ll put it in the bag with my clothes! That’ll protect it, right?”

“Maybe…”

“ _Pleeeeeease._ ”

Should they even be thinking about gaming right now? Like, Sean understands wanting the PlayBox to distract from everything that they’re feeling, but is now really the time? It just feels...wrong to be thinking about a video game console when it hasn’t even been a full day since Dad died.

But, fuck it. Daniel deserves a little bit of leisure.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get it unplugged.”

After loading the PlayBox and its games into Daniel’s bag, Sean grabs some of the pictures from the walls, particularly the one of him playing in the sandbox as a kid from the dining room, the collage that hangs above the kitchen counter, and the one of him and Daniel that rests next to the door to the basement. 

Each one of these is like a time capsule, filled with all the memories of when they were taken. Obviously he doesn’t remember much about the ones from when he was real little, but even they bring up something in him when he looks at them. It’s like, even if he can’t remember the specifics, he remembers how happy he was in that picture, how at peace he was with being a kid. He didn’t have to worry about dead parents or superpowered brothers, just how he was going to go about building that sandcastle.

Sean tries to find a picture of the three of them together, but aside from the one of Dad and baby Sean in the car, and the one they took after his big race—the one that he says he hates because he looks like a sweaty pig, but still had framed in his room anyway—Dad is hardly in any of them. He was always the one taking the photos, never getting the chance to be in them.

“Sean?” Daniel taps on his arm to get his attention. “Are you okay?”

Sean sniffs, and that’s when he realizes he’s started crying. Well, his eyes started watering, at least. He quickly wipes his face off on his sleeve. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“Do you think…” Daniel starts. He trails off and looks over at the door to Dad’s bedroom. It’s closed, but it’s never locked. Sean usually knows better than to go in there, but Dad was never one to lock them out of any parts of his life.

“You don’t go into my room without asking, and I won’t go into yours,” he’d said. That was enough to keep Sean away, since he didn’t want Dad to barge in on him in the middle of something, or snoop around while he was at school or work and find his weed, or those _slightly_ embarrassing doodles he drew of that humanoid wolf character he created.

All that seems so far away now…

“You wanna check out Dad’s room?” Sean asks. “Why?”

Daniel shrugs. “There might be something in there we can take. Like, to remember him.”

Sean gives Daniel’s shoulder a squeeze. “That’s a good idea.”

Dad’s room is dark and simple. The shades are drawn, blocking out any of the daylight outside, which fits the mood perfectly. The room is wider than Sean’s, but not as long. Dad’s king-sized bed sits in the center of the room, which is something Sean never understood about adults. Sean’s bed has always been in the corner, but even in TV shows and movies it seems like adults always had their beds in the center of the room. It makes sense for couples that sleep in the same bed, but Dad hadn’t even seen anybody since Karen left them. Yet the bed is still there in the center of the room, with a nightstand on either side.

Dad has this walk-in closet that sits next to the master bathroom, but Dad never had that many clothes, so he usually would use it as a storage room. Sean only knows this because he was playing around in it one day as a kid and accidentally knocked over a box of invoice papers Dad had filed away. That was when the whole, “You don’t go into my room and I won’t go into yours” thing started.

Aside from the bed and nightstands, Dad’s room is mostly empty. The sage green carpet is mostly bare, save for a set of dumbbells in the corner, and a stand-up mirror beside the left nightstand. The earthy green and brown bed sheets are tucked in so squarely and perfectly you could think it was a hotel room. It feels weird to be in here. It feels wrong, like he’s going to get in trouble for being here.

But Dad isn’t around to yell at him anymore…

“Hey, Sean, check this out!” Daniel calls from the walk-in closet.

“Dude,” Sean replies, making his way over. “We shouldn’t go snooping through Dad’s things. We might...we might see something we shouldn’t have.”

“Like what?” Daniel asks. He’s digging through a box of old photo albums, and okay, that seems pretty harmless. But Sean does _not_ want to accidentally discover Dad’s collection of leather whips and chains or some shit.

“Nothing,” Sean says. He kneels beside Daniel. “What’d you find?”

Daniel is flipping through one of the books, looking at all the pictures. These are _old_ pictures, like, from when Dad was living in Mexico old. The colors are faded on some of them, but he can still recognize Dad, even as a teenager. In one of them, he’s standing next to Sean’s uncle Miguel, Dad’s younger brother. They look so much like him and Daniel, it’s uncanny. Except Dad’s jaw is a little squarer than Sean’s, and he’s already starting to grow his signature 5 o’clock shadow, even at 16. Miguel looks a lot like a slightly older Daniel if he chopped off all his hair and was missing one of his front teeth.

Sean takes one of the other photo albums from the box, and starts thumbing through them. This one is a lot more recent. A lot of pictures of Sean and Daniel on their ski trip, a couple of Daniel’s first day of third grade. There’s a few pictures of their summer end-of-school parties that they used to throw when Sean was in middle school, when they’d set up the pool in the backyard and invite a bunch of their friends from school over to swim, hang out, and make themselves sick off popsicles.

After finishing looking through that one, Sean picks up another one, and it’s a few years older than the last one. There’s some pictures from before Daniel was even born, before Karen left. There’s a couple, though, of Karen with baby Daniel.

“Who’s that?” Daniel asks, pointing to one of the pictures of him.

“That’s you, kid,” Sean says. “And that—” he points to Karen, “—is your mom.”

“Whoa, really?” Daniel takes the album from him and looks closer at the picture. “She looks so different from that gym card of hers I found.”

Sean doesn’t think she looks all that different. Her hair isn’t as long and she’s wearing less makeup, but the most significant difference is that in this pic, Karen is actually smiling. She’s holding Daniel, who can’t be more than a few months old, up above her, their faces both frozen mid-laugh. It makes Sean’s blood pressure rise at the thought of her willingly giving all of this up.

“Sean?” Daniel says, putting the photo album down. “Do you...do you think Mom will come back? Like...when she hears about Dad…”

“No,” Sean bites. “No, I don’t think she will. And I hope she doesn’t.”

“Why? Don’t you miss her?”

“Not in the slightest. I’m glad she’s gone, and I hope she stays that way.”

Daniel sniffs. “I hope she comes back...it’d be nice to have a Mom…”

Ugh, now Sean feels like an asshole. It’s just...he gets really worked up over Karen. Like, he’s over it. He’s definitely over it, but it still gets his blood boiling. He’s not sad about her anymore, he’s just mad. His anger is so scalding it’s like that time Dad was trying to fix the water heater while Sean was in the shower, and he accidentally made the water so hot it burnt his back.

But Daniel doesn’t need anger right now. He needs comfort, consolation. Karen may have walked out on them, but Sean had eight years with her before that. Meanwhile, Daniel’s never known what it was like to have a mom. He just lost the only parent he’s ever known.

Daniel starts to cry, and Sean wraps his arm around him, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Sean runs his hands down the back of Daniel’s head to soothe him. He’s not very good at this, playing the vulnerable older brother, but Sean and Daniel are sharing the exact same grief right now, so he needs to be there for him.

“Hey, um…” The calm moment between the two of them is snapped by the voice of the cop from behind them. “Sorry, I know you guys are dealing with a lot right now, but if we’re going to get you boys to Beaver Creek, we’re going to need to leave soon. Are you guys almost done?”

Sean clears his throat, wipes his eyes. “Yeah. We’re almost done. Just give us a few minutes.”

Sean and Daniel spend a few moments doing a quick scan of the rest of the closet, seeing if there are any other boxes of photographs or something, but most of it is just invoice files. No leather whips, either, thank God.

Sean finishes putting away the photo albums in the box and carries it out into the living room. Altogether they have three garbage bags full of stuff, Sean’s backpack, and the box of photos. Hopefully this isn’t too much. Sean doesn’t think Daniel could bear to leave behind any of his toys, and you’d have to pry these photo albums from Sean’s cold, dead hands.

The policewoman helps them load their bags and the box of photo albums into the CPS caseworker’s car. It’s a fairly standard midsize sedan, so not all of it fits in the trunk. Daniel keeps the bag with the PlayBox in the backseat with him, while the caseworker lets Sean sit in the passenger seat.

As he’s getting in the car the police lady clamps a hand on his shoulder, and he spins around.

“Listen, kid,” she says. “I know what you’re going through. My dad died when I was around your age, and I spent years being angry at the world. At some point, you just have to let it go and move on. It’s okay to be sad and angry right now, but you can’t let it control or overwhelm you.”

Sean shrugs his shoulder free of her grasp. “I’m sorry to hear that. How did your dad die?”

“Cancer. He battled with it for four years.”

“Yeah? Well mine was shot right in front of me by one of your ‘good men.’ So don’t even try that shit with me. You don’t know how I feel. You’ll never know how I feel.”

She backs away, waving Sean off dismissively as she returns to her squad car. 

Sean climbs into the passenger seat and puts his backpack between his legs. He turns around in his seat to look at Daniel. “You doing okay, buddy?”

Daniel looks up from the picture book he brought along for the ride—and if memory serves, it’s the one Daniel made Dad read to him every night for a month when he was 6, the one about the girl who changes colors like a chameleon. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

He’s obviously not, running his hands up and down the spine of the book, not even opening it to read it, just staring at the cover and spacing out. But Sean doesn’t know how to cheer him up—doesn’t know how to deal with any of this really—so he just tries to smile and turns back around. 

The caseworker adjusts the GPS attached to her dashboard, and the travel time says it will take three hours, so Sean pulls out his iPod and plugs in his headphones.

“Let me know if you need me to stop along the way,” the caseworker says. “Are you guys getting hungry? We could stop for lunch?”

“I’m fine,” Sean says, and puts his headphones on.

As the music starts playing, he rests his head against the window, closes his eyes, and tries to fall asleep for the long drive, because lord knows he didn’t get any last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edit log:** Edited the first line because it was driving me crazy every time I opened my document. Thought of a much better wording for it and couldn't just let it sit lol


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Sean notices about the Reynolds’ house is that, while it’s a fair bit bigger than his house in Seattle, it’s much smaller than he remembers. The last time he was here, he was a little kid. Daniel wasn’t even born yet, and Karen…

Karen doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. His dad is dead, his brother has fucking _superpowers_ , and he’s been ripped away from his home, his life, his security, into the brave unknown of Beaver Creek.

Claire meets them at the door, and she’s all smiles, but she’s putting on a face. Sean can tell. Her smile never reaches her eyes, which are filled with sadness. And that’s just what Sean needs, more sadness.

While Claire talks with the lady from CPS, Sean and Daniel head inside, where Stephen is waiting for them. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around the both of them, squeezing them in for a hug. He has that old man smell, the kind that smells faintly of aloe and cigarettes. Stephen doesn’t smoke, Sean doesn’t think, but it’s kind of an uncomfortable smell, yet still strangely calming. Nostalgic.

Daniel starts crying, and then Stephen starts to choke up, and god dammit, Sean is not going to cry. He’s not. _Really_. Sean shrugs his way out of the hug and wipes his face off on his sleeve.

Stephen shows the boys up to their bedroom, and _fuck_ , as if things weren’t bad enough, now he’s got to share a room with Daniel. There’s only one full-sized bed, too, which is so mortifying Sean can’t even put it to words.

“We’ll let you boys get settled in,” Stephen says, giving them that pitying look Sean so despises. “Claire...Grandma will be making dinner in a little bit. Do you guys have anything in particular you would like?”

Dad’s empanadas. Dad’s chili. Literally _anything_ made by Dad. God, Sean can’t believe he’s going to have to eat gross white people food like meatloaf and brussels sprouts now. The thought alone makes him want to gag.

“Can we have hot dogs?” Daniel asks. He’s still so wide-eyed and innocent, despite everything that’s happened, that Sean is kind of jealous. He can tell his brother is hurting, same as he is, but he still seems so jovial that it’s almost annoying.

Stephen sucks in his lips as he bites back a smile. Clearly ‘hot dogs’ was not the answer he was expecting. “Sure. Hot dogs it is.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Daniel says, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, thanks, Stephen,” Sean says.

Once Stephen heads back downstairs, Sean heads over to the bed, drops his bag on the ground, and collapses backwards onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. The room starts spinning, or maybe it’s just his head, and he covers his eyes with his hands. The air smells like the inside of a craft store, which on a normal day, Sean might find pleasant. But now it just brings him back to another time, a better time, when his dad was still alive and he could spend time wandering around _Michaels_ looking at all of the cool art supplies he’d never be able to afford.

“Sean! Did you see the model train set Grandpa has up here?” Daniel asks excitedly. “It looks so cool!”

“Yeah,” Sean deadpans. “Real cool.”

Sean feels the weight of the mattress shift as Daniel climbs onto the bed next to him. Daniel weighs like, fifty pounds, so it’s not a lot of added weight, but it still makes Sean feel like he’s sinking as his little brother curls up next to him.

“I know you don’t really care about model trains,” Daniel sighs. “I’m just trying to cheer you up. But you know, you’re not the only one who’s sad, Sean. I’m trying to be strong like you are, but...”

And that’s what finally sets him off. Sean covers his face with his sleeve and unleashes a sob so loud and violent that Daniel nearly jumps away. This whole time, he’s been really careful not to cry in front of Daniel, to be strong for him. But he just can’t take it anymore. Everything comes crashing down on him, like a bolt of thunder in the middle of a storm. The weight of it all, the grief, the despair, the anger, it’s crushing. It isn’t until he feels Daniel wrap his arms around him that Sean feels that weight being lifted. Not completely, but it’s lighter, like they’re sharing the load.

And, well, they are sharing the load, aren’t they? They’re both feeling the same grief, the same despair, the same anger. They’re in this together.

Sean rolls onto his side and squeezes Daniel tightly to him. He can feel the jagged breathing of his brother suppressing his own sobs against Sean’s chest.

“You’re right, _enano_ ,” Sean says, sniffling and resting his chin on the top of Daniel’s head. He rubs Daniel’s back, in the same soothing way Dad used to when he was little. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m gonna...I’m gonna be a better brother to you from now on.”

Daniel still chokes on his tears, so Sean pats him gently on the back. “It’s okay to cry,” he tells him. “Let it all out. Your _hermano_ is here.”

“I miss Dad,” Daniel cries.

“I do, too, Daniel. I do, too.”

Sean holds his brother, squeezes him tightly to his chest, as they both cry. They cry until there are no more tears left to fall. As their whimpering subsides, there’s a knock at the door.

“Boys?” It’s Claire. “Dinner is ready.”

“Coming,” Sean shouts out hoarsely.

He and Daniel pick themselves up, wipe off their soggy faces, and laugh to each other through their final tears. Sean wraps his brother in one last hug, before they both quickly wash up in the bathroom down the hall, and head downstairs.

# # #

His earbuds may be able to block out the sound around him, but as Sean runs, it can’t quiet his thoughts. His feet push off the pavement in time with his music, and for a moment or two, it’s a nice distraction. As Brendon Urie’s smooth tenor voice fills his ears, he starts to feel lighter. After a while, it’s like his feet no longer touch the ground. He closes his eyes, lets the music sway him, and runs. The wind rushes past him, flows through his hair. It almost feels like he’s back in Seattle, at track practice. Running like this, he feels more at home than he has all week.

He’s only been staying at the Reynolds’ for a few days, but this is the first day he’s actually gotten up in time for his usual morning jog. Claire told him the best thing at a time like this is to keep a routine, to give himself some semblance of normalcy. But that’s hard to do when nothing around him is normal. Nothing in his life is the same as it was before the incident, so normal is out of the question.

It would help if he could start school. God, Sean never thought he would actually _want_ to go to school. Well, he doesn’t really, but having to get up at the same time every morning and follow that same schedule would put structure back in his life, which is exactly what he needs right now. The enrollment process is taking longer than expected, though, because they’re transferring over mid-semester, and Claire wanted to give him and Daniel the week off to adjust before trying to acclimate to a new school, anyway.

The song changes, and it’s some pop punk song from the late 2000’s. Lyla loves this kind of music. The Misty Mice concert he took her to for her birthday just last month feels like an entire lifetime ago. Back then, he was just a kid, jamming out with his best friend to some awesome music at a freaking bar—that made him feel like such a grown-up. But now, he really _is_ grown up. He’s only a month older, and yet he’s aged a good ten years.

Sean stops to catch his breath after the song finishes. This used to be easier, when his body wasn’t weighed down by grief and a week of comfort binge-eating. But every stride saps his energy like maple from a tree. He really needs to get back in shape.

That’s another thing that sucks about having to move all the way out here: it’s too late to join the track team. Not that he has any right to be thinking about shit as trivial as sports right now. Like, his dad died less than a week ago, he can’t be letting things get back to normal. Dad deserves more than just one week.

If it was up to Sean, he would never stop grieving. But that’s not realistic. Eventually, life has to go on. He knows that. He just wants to keep Dad alive in his thoughts for as long as he can. If he never stops thinking about him, it’s like he never left. It’s what Dad deserves, even if it hurts.

And holy fuck, does it hurt.

Sean is finally about ready to get back to jogging—probably just head back to Claire’s house; he’s too winded to go much further—when the next song switches. It’s a song Sean doesn’t remember putting in his library. It starts with this soft, clean electric guitar riff. He knows what it is even before the lyrics start, but he’s a masochist, apparently, because he lets it keep playing.

_And the men who hold high places…_

Nope, okay. That’s it. That’s all he can take. Sean rips the headphones out of his ears and lets them fall to the ground. His mind is a maelstrom of anger and grief and sadness, and it’s almost too much. He blinks away tears, and sinks to the ground, hiding his face in his arms.

_Closer to the Heart_. That’s the song that came on, the song that’s still playing, that he can still hear faintly coming from his earbuds on the ground. He tosses his iPod aside, probably cracking the screen but he doesn’t fucking care at this point. He doesn’t fucking care about anything. No, he’s just gotta sit here—blocks away from the house he’s staying at, probably ruining the owner’s flowerbeds—and cry.

Dad must have put it on his iPod. He was always trying to get Sean to listen to Rush. And in all fairness, he _does_ listen to Rush, because Rush is fucking legit, but he can’t let his dad know he’s into _old people_ music.

Couldn’t. He couldn’t let his dad know. Past tense, Sean. Remember to speak in past tense when talking about Dad.

God, this fucking sucks.

It’s like every time he starts to feel just a little better, it comes back at him like a boomerang. A boomerang made out of titanium, aimed straight at his head. He still wakes up and expects to be at home, and walk out of his room to see him in the kitchen, making eggs. Sometimes, he’ll think of something funny, and he’ll laugh and pull out his phone to text Dad.

Sometimes he texts him anyway. He never gets a response.

But he likes to imagine the three little dots popping up at the bottom of the screen, staying there for what feels like three years, all the while Sean rolls his eyes and wonders if he’s writing a fucking novel or something, only to receive a reply that says, _LOL_ with a smiley face.

Sean is lost in his sobbing when he hears a voice from beside him. “Are you alright, dear?” He looks up and sees a middle-aged woman with long, wavy blonde hair looking down at him with worry in her eyes.

“Sorry,” Sean croaks, wiping his eyes with his hoodie sleeve and standing up. “Did I mess up your flowers?”

“Don’t mind the flowers, sweetie. I’m more worried about you, did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m fine, I just—”

“Oh my, aren’t you Claire Reynolds’ grandson?”

Sean stiffens. “Yeah?”

The lady gives her condolences about his dad—which is just what he needs right now, one more person in the world feeling sorry for him, like feeling sorry for himself isn’t enough—and introduces herself, but it’s some long-ass white person name with like, not a fucking vowel in sight, so there’s no way Sean is going to remember it. She keeps trying to talk his ear off, saying he and Daniel are more than welcome to come over for supper anytime. Who says “supper” anymore? He thanks her for her kindness as politely as he can muster, and excuses himself, picking up his iPod and taking off down the street.

He jogs to the end of the street and rounds the corner, but just to keep up appearances. His breath is still shaky, both from crying and from running, so he really doesn’t feel like jogging all the way to Claire’s. On the walk back, he dusts off his iPod, and notices there’s only a small scrape on the back of it, thank God.

His music library is still pulled up. It’s moved past the song that triggered his breakdown, thankfully, and onto a song by Waterparks, but Rush still weighs heavily on his mind.

Sean scrolls through his song list, skimming it for any other Rush songs. No, of course it was just this one. It was his favorite. Before he died, Sean’s dad slipped his favorite song onto Sean’s phone, hoping one last time to get him to listen to it. He tries not to take it as some sort of message from beyond the grave, when he knows it was just a dad trying to get his kid to like the kind of music he himself grew up with.

Sean holds his finger over the song, and hits _Delete from library._ A message pops up, asking him if he’s sure he wants to delete the song from his device.

_Is_ he sure? Or wouldn’t it be nice to have one last reminder of Dad?

His finger hesitates over the button for a moment, before he finally decides to hit _no_ . He slips his earbuds back in, hits play, and imagines he’s in the car with Dad, and this song is playing through the stereo off that _Greatest Hits_ CD Dad loves so much. Shutting his eyes, he breathes in the frigid, dry air of November in Beaver Creek, and continues down the street.

_And the men who hold high places_

_Must be the ones who start_

_To mold a new reality_

_Closer to the heart_


	3. Chapter 3

Because of the investigation into Officer Matthews’ death—which Sean’s lawyer assures him is standard procedure whenever an officer is killed on-duty—Dad’s body isn’t released for funeral procedures until almost a week after Sean has moved into Claire’s spare bedroom. They kept his body for an entire fucking week, poking around at him, cutting him open, looking at him like a specimen, rather than the single father of two young boys, who was tragically taken from them well, _well_ before his time.

It makes Sean sick. Literally. Every time he thinks about his dad’s cold, dead body, a bullet hole carved into his chest, lying on an operating table while the pathologist removes his organs in the autopsy, Sean gets physically nauseated.

So, after barely a week of living in Beaver Creek, Sean and Daniel are hoisted back to Seattle for what is likely to be the _second_ worst day of their lives.

Making matters worse is the squad of police cars littering the parking lot.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Sean asks.

“Language, Sean,” Claire scolds, and Sean rolls his eyes.

“I was reading about some protests in the area,” Stephen says. He looks to Sean in the back seat. “People rallying around your father’s memory to protest police violence or something.”

“Yeah, I read about those,” Sean says. “But did they really have to send an entire fucking squadron?”

Claire pulls the car into a parking spot and stops the car, nearly slamming the gear shift into park. The car jerks from the inertia. 

Claire whips her head around over her seat and sets her eyes squarely on Sean. “Okay, Sean, I’ve had it with the attitude.” She closes her eyes, faces forward again and breathes deep. 

Then she leans back over the seat and, more gently, says, “Listen, sweetie. I know you’re upset, and I’m giving you a pass today, but one of these days, the Dead Father card is going to run out of punches. So long as you are living in my house, you are going to have to live by my rules, and those rules involve no swearing, okay? No attitude. Are we clear?”

Sean scoffs. “Yes. We’re clear.”

“That’s all I ask,” Claire says. She unlocks the car door and everybody piles out and heads into the funeral home.

Sean pulls out his phone. He’s gotten a few texts of condolences from his friends, a couple of whom say they’ll see him at the funeral. Lyla sent one saying she might be a little bit late, but she’ll be there.

He wants to ask why, because honestly, how could you be late to the funeral of your best friend’s dad? But he just doesn’t have it in him right now. Claire’s right; he can’t spend his entire life being mad.

But damn, if he doesn’t want to.

# # #

“I can’t breathe,” Daniel chokes out as Claire tightens up his tie. She got both of them new clothes for the funeral—which is good, because Sean definitely didn’t have any funeral-appropriate attire. It’s not like he could just wear his Wolf Squad hoodie. Claire loosens the tie just a bit for him, but Daniel still pulls at it the second she turns her back.

Once they get a free moment, Sean sits down next to Daniel on the admittedly comfy couch at the back of the viewing room. He gently shifts his weight into Daniel, nudging him affectionately. “How are you doing, _enano_?”

He hardly has to ask, since the kid is clearly barely holding himself together. Sean wraps his arm around Daniel and pulls him into a half-hug, which only sets him off further. Daniel squeezes Sean with both arms and cries into his shoulder, and Sean would be lying if he said he wasn’t struggling to hold back tears, himself.

“Yeah,” Sean says shakily. “Me too.”

Sean watches his brother carefully. It’s been almost a week since the incident, and Sean hasn’t noticed anything particularly strange about Daniel. He’s been keeping an eye on him, watching for any signs of that...power, that ability that he unleashed that day. But so far, things have been quiet. He’s been distracting himself with a lot of PlayBox, though, so maybe that’s why.

That day, emotions were high. There was a lot going on, and all of it was intense. It’s possible that Daniel’s powers only come out when he’s really emotionally compromised, y’know, like when he watched his dad get murdered right in front of him.

And if there’s ever a place for heightened emotions, it’s going to be at his dad’s funeral. So Sean has to be extra careful.

One of the funeral directors, a tall, short-haired woman wearing a black suit, enters the room with Claire and Stephen. She smiles at them with rehearsed sympathy. That kind of insincerity would usually piss Sean off, but he can’t really fault her. When you’re around morbid stuff all day, every day, for a living, you probably get pretty desensitized to it.

“We’re going to open the doors for guests in a few minutes,” she says to Sean gently. “But the immediate family can go up and have a moment with him alone, first. If you want.”

“What’s the point?” Sean mutters. “It’s a closed casket anyway.”

Not that Sean would _want_ to see Dad like that anyway, pale and lifeless, with a bullethole through his chest. Even if they managed to cover it up, it would still be the empty husk of his dad, not his actual father. And it’s not the image he or Daniel need as their last memory of him.

Though, seeing him getting shot probably isn’t much better of a last memory. At least Daniel doesn’t remember that.

But Daniel says, “I wanna go say good-bye,” and gives him a misty-eyed look. Damn it, how can Sean say no?

So he and Daniel trudge across the room like each step is a siphon that drains the energy from their feet, and pretty soon it feels as though they’re moving through molasses. Finally, they reach the front, where there sits a redwood casket, elegant and high quality, but not too showy. The lid is closed, and Sean could almost pretend that it’s empty, if the gravity of it wasn’t pulling at his heart like a magnet. 

Daniel buries his face in Sean’s side and cries loudly, and Sean blinks away his own tears. Everything feels shaky, like the grief and sorrow is literally rocking the room.

That’s when Sean realizes that’s not a metaphor. The room is actually shaking. Not violently, like an earthquake, but there’s a gentle trembling that knocks over a vase of flowers. Sean looks over at Daniel. His hair is standing on end, and the air around them is getting cold, like a breeze is circling the room.

Oh fuck. Maybe he hadn’t been imagining it. Daniel really does have powers. And they’re activating right now.

Sean holds tightly to Daniel and strokes the back of his head. “Shh, hey, hey, it’s okay, _enano_ ,” he says in a lame attempt to comfort his brother.

“Our dad’s in there,” Daniel sobs. “He’s dead and he’s right there and I can’t even see him.”

“I know, Daniel,” Sean says gently. He watches as a box of tissues falls from one of the tables. The stands of pictures—some of which are photocopies of the ones they found in Dad’s closet—are wobbling. Daniel needs to calm down, now. Sean glances over his shoulder, but Claire and Stephen are still talking with the funeral director, and don’t seem to notice. Which is good. He needs to calm Daniel down before anybody catches them.

Sean breaks their hug and gets down on his knees. He looks directly into Daniel’s eyes, which he’s rubbing ineffectively as tears stain his hands. “Daniel, look at me. That’s not dad in there, okay? That’s...his body, but it’s not...him.” Fuck, he’s not making any sense. “Look, okay, think about it this way. If I chop off your arm, are you still you? Or is your arm you?”

“What?” Daniel says, clutching his arm and holding it away from Sean. “Why would you chop off my arm?”

Okay, so he’s making even less sense now, but the confusion seems to be snapping Daniel out of his crying spell, and the ground seems just a little more stable. “I’m not going to cut off your arm, _enano_ . It’s just pretend. Think about it, though. I chop off your arm and it’s lying there on the floor. The arm was part of your body, but it wasn’t _you_ , right? It’s the same with Dad. It’s like his arm’s been cut off, and his arm is what’s in the casket right now. But _he_ is still out there. Not...not here, like he’s not still alive, but his spirit is, I guess?”

“You mean...he’s in heaven?”

Sean doesn’t believe in God, or heaven, but he hasn’t stopped holding out hope for there being something after death. If anything, he just likes to think that Dad is still out there, watching over him and Daniel. And if that thought is comforting to him, maybe it is to Daniel, too.

“Yeah,” Sean says. “Yeah, dude, I think he’s in heaven. He’s up there, and he’s looking at us, and he’s trying to tell us not to be sad.”

“But I am sad…”

“I know. Me, too. And it’s okay to be sad right now. But Dad isn’t sad, I don’t think. I think he’s happy up there, or wherever he is.”

Daniel sniffs. “I wish I could be strong like you, Sean.”

Sean bites his lip and squeezes his burning eyes shut. “You know what? You’re stronger than you think.”

“Yeah?”

Sean pulls his little brother into a hug. “Yeah. You’re super strong, dude. You’re like a wolf. You’re strong and fierce and loyal.”

“You’re a wolf, too, Sean,” Daniel says. “We can be wolves, together.”

“I’d like that, _enano_ ,” Sean says. “I’d like that a lot.”

# # #

The casket sitting no more than ten feet in front of him is a black hole. Staring at it saps Sean of any energy he may have had. Every emotion is sucked into its gravitational pull, swirling around and around until it disappears from existence, leaving him completely empty. And yet, he can’t look away. It’s got him paralyzed, because, despite what he told Daniel not twenty minutes ago, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that his dad is in there.

Claire passes him and Daniel a box of tissues, but Sean doesn’t need it. He’s not crying right now, he can’t. There’s nothing left inside of him to cry. The only thing he feels is the cushion of the couch at the front of the room, and the graze of Daniel’s arm as he takes the box of tissues from him.

The service begins as the priest from Dad’s church says a prayer and a blessing. Sean prays along, even though he doesn’t believe in that shit, because Daniel is doing it and Claire is right next to him and he really doesn’t want to piss her off again.

While the priest is giving the ceremony, Sean glances around the room at everybody who’s shown up. It’s more people than Sean would have imagined, given the police outside, and he doesn’t recognize a majority of them, but he catches a glimpse of some of his high school friends, including Jenn. She catches his eye and smiles softly at him. Sean tries his absolute hardest to smile back, but he just doesn’t have it in him. The best he can muster is a neutral expression to replace his frown.

And he can’t help but notice that, out of all the faces he does recognize, he doesn’t see Lyla’s.

She did say she would be late, but like, the viewing started over an hour ago, the actual service is starting, and she’s still nowhere to be seen.

What gives, dude?

If he wasn’t absolutely positive that Claire would chuck his phone out the window for pulling it out during the service, he would text her and ask her where the hell she is.

Once the prayers are done, a couple people that Sean only knows because he’s seen them hanging around with his dad say a few words. Richard, one of Dad’s drinking buddies, tells a story about how, when his wife left him, Dad was the first person he called, and they met up and Dad wouldn’t let him drink because he knew Rich was three years sober. Then, a friend from church named Monica talks about how devout he was, how she would see him every Sunday, and he would always sing along with the choir, even though he was a terrible singer.

One by one, people step up and tell stories about Dad. Some of them are about fun memories they shared, like all the nights Dad would spend playing euchre with some of the neighbors, and some are of times that really tested Dad’s character, times where he pulled through for them despite his own hardships. All of them make Sean want to go up and say something, but he doesn’t even know what he would say. Every single memory of his dad has been forever stained with the blood that turned their back lawn red.

The door at the back of the viewing hall creaks open, and on instinct Sean cranes his neck to see, and Lyla stumbles in, wearing a thin black cardigan over a black blouse and pants. Her face is wrought with tension as she scans the room, her eyes landing on Sean at the front. Seeing her is like setting down a heavy box. He feels lighter. Without any regard for Claire’s concerned glare, Sean waves her over to the couch to sit with them. 

She slides between him and Daniel and throws her arms around Sean, squeezing him so tightly his back cracks. Then she turns around and does the same with Daniel, whose face seems to melt into Lyla’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Lyla whispers. “I was hoping to get here before the service started.”

Sean is so relieved and happy to see Lyla that he actually almost forgot he was mad at her. Whatever, he’s just glad she’s here. “We can talk about it later,” Sean says. “Thanks for being here.”

Lyla takes his hand and squeezes. “Of course, Sean.”

Claire shushes them, and Sean rolls his eyes as the funeral director asks if anybody else would like to speak.

“Actually,” Lyla says, letting go of Sean’s hand and standing up. “I’d like to say a few words, if that’s alright.” She turns to Sean.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Sean says. “Go ahead.”

Lyla takes to the podium and clears her throat. “Esteban Diaz was like a second father to me. When I first moved to Seattle in the first grade, and met Sean, I was worried about fitting in. But then Sean invited me over to his house, and Esteban immediately treated me like family. He never...expected anything out of me, and I don’t think he ever really expected anything from anyone. He loved people the way they were, faults and all. I think Esteban was the first adult in my life that I felt truly _saw_ me for who I was, not who they wanted me to be.” 

She swallows hard as tears start to dampen her eyes. They stream down her face like ribbons. She continues, “Esteban Diaz was not only a good man, but a great one. And I miss him every day, like a puzzle missing a piece.” She breathes deep, and her face suddenly hardens. “Esteban isn’t just gone, though. He was taken from us, by someone who was sworn to serve and protect us. His killer may be gone, but justice has still yet to be served. So long as innocent people of color are being persecuted and treated with violence by the very people who are supposed to make us feel safe, there will be no justice for Esteban Diaz. That’s why, along with some help from the Seattle Race and Social Justice Initiative, I have organized a peaceful protest next Saturday at 2PM, outside the police station. Please come if you can make it, and spread the word, using the hashtag #JusticeForEsteban. Let’s not let his death be in vain. Thank you.”

An anxious chatter breaks out amongst the guests. Claire gives Lyla a look Sean can’t fully decipher as she sits back down next to Sean. Sean just looks at her, like he’s seeing her for the first time. “You’re the one who started the protests?” he whispers.

Claire shushes them, a lot more harshly than she had before, so Lyla just pats him on the knee and keeps quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

The service ends, and so begins the procession. Claire and Stephen’s car is the first in line. The white gloves feel like ice on Sean’s hands as he and the other pallbearers lift the casket into the back of the hearse. They burn like liquid nitrogen once the casket leaves his hands. It’s like Dad carried all of Sean’s warmth, and with him gone, he’s just left shivering in the bitter November cold.

Lyla gives Sean one last hug before getting into the passenger seat of the car behind theirs, where Lyla’s mom gives Sean a solemn look. He nods in her direction before climbing back into the back seat.

The procession starts in earnest, and one by one, all of the cars pull out of the parking lot and follow the hearse to the cemetery. It’s not a long drive, only a couple of miles, but at the pace they’re going, it feels like it takes hours. Or maybe that’s just Sean’s own sense of time being thrown out of whack by everything swirling around in his head.

The burial passes in a blur. Sean and the other pallbearers take out the casket and set it down where they’re told to, a short ceremony is held, in which another prayer is said, and then the casket is lowered into the ground, as guests toss flowers onto the top. Sean can barely hold still, he’s quivering so badly, and he’s not sure if it’s from the overwhelming emotions he’s feeling, the freezing cold wind rushing past him, or both.

A small voice crying to his right catches his attention. It’s Daniel. He’s crying again, really hard. Sean squats down and wraps his arms around him before he starts shaking the ground again. “Come here,  _ enano _ ,” he whispers, barely able to muster a voice any louder, and hugs his brother tighter.

Breaking the hug, Sean begins taking off his white pallbearer gloves, and hands the left one to Daniel. “Here,” he says. “Hold this to you real tight, okay? And think about all the things you love about Dad.”

“Okay,” Daniel says, taking the glove without question. As he squeezes his eyes shut and squints, like he’s thinking really hard, a small smile starts to creep onto Daniel’s face.

Seeing him smile again is infectious, and Sean feels his own lips starting to curve upward. He follows Daniel’s lead, shutting his eyes and thinking about Dad. About the time he grounded Sean for finding weed in his room, but still took him to the wrestling match. About how he was fixing up a car to give Sean for graduation. About the last hug he ever gave him. He pictures these memories like a river, flowing from him into the glove. 

Daniel lets out a small sob, and Sean opens one eye into a blurry mess of vision. He wipes his tears off, some of them falling onto the glove, and sees Daniel, shivering and crying. Sean hugs him again. “Okay, is your glove filled with memories yet?” he asks. Daniel nods. “Alright, now, let’s throw them onto the casket. That way, dad will always have a pair of gloves to keep him warm, and they’ll be full of happy memories with us.”

“Do you think he’ll get cold up in Heaven?” Daniel asks.

“I don’t know,  _ enano _ ,” Sean says. “But it can’t hurt to have a pair just in case, right?”

Sean straightens back up and approaches the pit with his brother. He peers over the edge at the casket being lowered. With one final breath, he tosses the glove into the pit, and it lands on the cross section of two stems, a marigold and a pink carnation. Daniel tosses his in, and it lands right beside Sean’s.

Sean feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns around into a hug from Lyla.

“Thanks, sister,” he sighs into her shoulder.

“Of course. I also figured you would need it before what I’m about to tell you.”

Sean breaks the hug. “What?”

Lyla simply points behind him, and Sean turns around to see a figure standing partially obscured by the giant oak tree near the gravesite.

“Oh, you’ve  _ gotta _ be kidding me,” Sean says. He starts to trudge over, but Lyla grabs him by the arm to stop him.

“Sean, I know how you feel, but think this through, okay? Don’t let your emotions get the better of you.”

Sean jerks his arm away. “Don’t give me that shit, Lyla. I’m sick of people telling me how to feel. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Lyla frowns, her face a maze of frustration. “I do understand, Sean,” she says. “I just don’t want you to say or do something you’ll regret.”

“Sean?” Daniel says, catching his brother’s attention. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sean says curtly. “Stay here with Lyla, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Daniel says something in response, but the blood rushing to Sean’s ears deafens him to it. His brow is creased so far that if it were a ruler, it would have snapped. Maybe it already has.

The coward hiding behind the trees notices him, and is about to turn away, but Sean says, “Don’t you  _ fucking _ move, Karen.”

Karen stops, and sighs. Instead of retreating, she advances sheepishly towards him. “Hi, Sean,” she says.

“Don’t, ‘hi, Sean,’ me. What the hell are you doing here?”

“When I heard that your father—”

“Oh, what? You decided now that our dad’s out of the way you want to be back in our lives, is that it?”

“No, I—”

“Where the hell were you, Karen? Where have you been? Why come back now?”

Karen puts her hands between her and Sean, like a shield. Typical Karen, never letting anyone get too close. “Sean, if you would let me finish…”

“I don’t have to listen to anything you say,” Sean spits. “You left us. And now you decide to show up? What, oh what, could have possibly summoned the elusive Karen Diaz? Because it damn well can’t be to support us.”

Karen responds firmly, “Sean, I loved your father, too. I’m here to pay my respects, and to mourn, same as the rest of you.”

“Bullshit,” Sean says. His anger is swelling up like an infection, and he wants to take it out on Karen by shoving her, punching her,  _ something _ . But he stops himself. “ _ You _ left him. You gave up your right to mourn him the second you walked out the door eight years ago. He didn’t mean shit to you in life, why should it be any different now that he’s dead?”

Karen closes her eyes. She breathes deeply. “I deserve that,” she says. “Okay? I deserve every bit of your anger. I hurt you, all three of you, and I’ve had to live with that. Please, just...be civil, for today, at least. I just want to say good-bye to a man that I loved.”

“Yeah? And what, then you’ll go right back to pretending we don’t exist? You don’t get to just waltz back into our lives for one day and then leave, Karen, without facing the consequences of your actions. That’s not how this shit works. You shouldn’t be here, you don’t  _ deserve _ to be here, and you know it.”

“Sean?” a voice calls out from behind him. “Sweetie, it’s time to go to the wake. Who are you talking to?”

It’s Claire. And from the sound of her footsteps crunching through the frozen grass, she’ll have an answer to that question soon enough.

The footsteps stop when they’re close enough for Claire to see. Sean’s back is still turned, all of his anger and hatred fixated on Karen’s fake-ass sad expression, but it’s almost like he can feel the heat emanating from Claire.

“Sean,” she says. “We’re leaving.”

It’s not a question.

Claire stomps away, and Sean turns to follow her. He hears Karen take in a breath to say something, but he cuts her off before she gets the chance. “Go home Karen. You’re not welcome here.”

With each step away from Karen, the heat sinks from his heart through the soles of his shoes, melting the frozen ground beneath his feet. By the time he’s back at the car, his anger has more or less drained. But his brow is still creased and Daniel looks at his face with wide, frightened eyes as they get into the car.

“Sean? Who was that?” he asks.

Sean slides in next to Daniel and slams the door shut. He watches through the window as Karen approaches the gravesite cautiously, pulls something from her pocket, and tosses it into the grave. Then, as Claire pulls away, she disappears from Sean’s view.

“Nobody,” Sean says. “She’s nobody.”

# # #

Dad would be happy with the wake.

Esteban always considered himself American-first-Mexican-second, so Sean didn’t grow up with a whole bunch of Mexican culture instilled in him. But Dad told him a few things here and there. He knows a little bit about  _ dia de los muertos _ —which ironically just passed earlier this week—though most of it comes from that cartoon movie,  _ The Book of Life _ , which Daniel made Sean watch with him freshman year. But he’s always known that in Mexico, funerals are more about celebrating life than mourning death.

And that’s exactly what Dad’s wake is. Everybody is talking and laughing and sharing stories about Dad. The food is surprisingly good—Claire selected mostly generic food like meatloaf and mashed potatoes, which are fine, but Sean managed to convince her to add some  _ enchiladas _ to the menu, and was kind of impressed at how good they were. 

But best of all is the atmosphere. The anger he felt upon seeing Karen for the first time in almost ten years has all but evaporated, and he’s swept up in the energy of the place. Some of Dad’s drinking buddies are tossing back shots in his honor. His church friends are chattering and laughing, and Sean can’t hear everything they’re saying, but it sounds like they’re reminiscing about him.

It’s uplifting. For the past week, Sean’s shoulders had been so weighed down by grief and anguish that his dragging feet were digging trenches in the backyard. But now, Sean is actually  _ smiling _ . Sean almost forgot  _ how _ to smile. He’s still sad deep down, of course he is. He might never  _ not _ be. But the brief moment of respite, the small beacon of light surrounded by a sea of sorrow, it’s almost enough to guide him to shore.

Almost.

Sean returns from the open bar with a Sprite for Daniel, and—unbeknownst to Claire—a rum and Coke for himself. All he had to do was give the bartender the sad, “My dad was violently murdered right in front of me” eyes and she gave in, inconspicuously adding just a dash of rum to his Coke.

“Give this to your grandma for me,” she said, handing him the glass with a wink.

The drink isn’t super strong, but that’s fine. Sean doesn’t want to get blackout drunk or anything, and his small stature and low tolerance makes him a mega-lightweight anyway, so this is probably more than enough to give him a little buzz.

Daniel takes a sip from his Sprite and sighs contentedly. “Thanks, Sean. Hey, can I play Mustard Party on your phone?”

“Sure,  _ enano _ ,” Sean says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “But if it drops below 30%, go and charge it for me, okay? I downloaded  _ Batman v Superman  _ for us to watch on the drive back.”

“Okay!” Daniel quickly gets to work at trying to beat Sean’s high score.

Lyla gets back from handing out flyers for her protests, and slides into the seat next to Sean. “Whew,” she sighs. “Talking to so many people all at once is exhausting. But I think we’re gonna have a good turnout on Saturday.”

“That’s really cool, Lyla,” Sean says. “I really can’t thank you enough for all of this. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“It means a lot to me, too,” Lyla says. “I meant it when I said that your dad was like a second father to me.”

“Hi, Lyla!” Daniel says, poking out from around Sean’s shoulder.

“Hey, there’s my favorite Diaz!” Lyla says, offering Daniel a fist bump. When Daniel’s fist touches hers, she mimics an explosion with her mouth and pulls her arm back, wiggling her fingers. Daniel laughs, and it’s the most wholesome thing.

Sean takes a sip of his drink, the rum burning at the back of his throat as he swallows it. “I wish I could help out more. But we have to go back to Beaver Creek tonight.”

“Hey.” Lyla puts a hand on Sean’s knee. “It’s okay. You need to focus on other things right now, and that’s okay.”

“Thanks,” Sean says. “I just...I don’t think I could handle it, honestly. Being there, surrounded by all these people, all just as pissed as me. It’d be like a constant reminder of my dad, and I…”

“Say no more,” Lyla says. “I get it, really.”

There’s a beat of silence between them, like a sigh.

“Daniel and I actually start at the new school on Monday.”

“That sucks.”

Sean shrugs. “I’m actually kind of looking forward to it. It’ll be easier to adjust to the new normal with a schedule.”

“I hear you,” Lyla says. She snatches the glass from Sean’s hand and puts it to her lips.

“Hey!” Sean laughs. “That’s mine.”

“ _ Lo tuyo es mío. _ ” She takes a sip, and winces. “Dude,” she whispers. “Is there alcohol in this?”

Sean can’t help but grin. “Yeah, maybe a little bit. But shh, don’t tell Claire.”

“You sly dog.” Lyla takes one more sip and hands the drink back to him, and Sean downs the rest of it so she can’t steal any more. It’s not a tall glass by any means, so it goes down pretty quickly. Lyla then leans around Sean and pokes Daniel in the side, making him giggle. “And how are you doing, Daniel? Holding up okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Daniel says. “I met this kid who lives next door to us and he’s my age. His name is Chris. We played together yesterday. We’re gonna go to the same school, so hopefully we get to be in the same class.”

“That’s awesome, dude,” Lyla says. “What did you play yesterday?”

Daniel goes into this whole story about how he and Chris played superheroes, and they had to take down the evil Mantroid and ugh, Sean’s already stopped listening. He’s heard the story twice already, once when Daniel told it to him immediately after coming in from playing, and again when he told Claire and Stephen at dinner. It’s nice that Daniel’s found a friend his own age to play with, but…how can he be so chill about all of this? Like, Dad’s been dead for barely a week, dude, and Daniel’s already running and playing and laughing?

It’s like he doesn’t even care.

No, that’s not fair to Daniel. Sean knows he cares. They even cried about it together on their first night at the Reynolds’. But...did he really have to move on so quickly? How come Daniel gets to go back to normal while Sean is still...fucking drowning.

The wake goes on for a little bit longer, and as people start getting ready to leave, they all stop by to offer Sean and Daniel their condolences. It’s honestly exhausting. Like, damn, guys, he was just starting to feel a little bit better, why do you have to come and remind him, over and over, that his dad is dead. He knows. He gets it. Thanks, good-bye.

But still he just grins through the pain in his heart, accepts their condolences, even hugs a few of them as they leave.

Lyla is the last to head out. Claire is in the office finalizing the payment, so while Daniel and Stephen wait out in the car, Sean and Lyla lean against the large glass window next to the front door. And it’s just now hitting him that this is the last time Sean is going to see his best friend for a while.

The elephant in the room somehow sits in the half-foot space between them.

“It’s not gonna be the same around here without you,” Lyla says. “Seriously, my days are gonna get  _ so _ boring without you constantly tripping over yourself trying to talk to Jenn.”

Sean elbows her in the side. “Ha-ha. Just watch, I’m gonna come back one day with a totally hot girlfriend and you’re gonna be so jealous.”

“Yeah right, Diaz. I’m way more likely to get a girlfriend than you are.”

Sean laughs. “Fair enough.” But his laughter dies down quickly, and they’re left with nothing but silence. The banquet hall is more or less empty, and the sun’s gone down outside already. Fucking fall, man. It gets dark at like 4PM. Sean hates it so much.

“Soooooooo,” Lyla says, extending the syllable well past its expiration date. Sean crosses his arms. Lyla only ever does that when she wants to talk serious, so this can’t be good. “Are you...okay? After what happened at the burial?”

“You mean with Karen?” Sean says, spitting her name like it’s a curse word. “Yeah. I’m right as rain.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“So what?” Sean sulks. He turns his head away from her, like looking at her is what’s causing the pit in his stomach to grow. His eyes comb the dark, empty hallway, looking for something to focus on so he won’t be tempted to look back over at her. He chooses an ugly potted fern near the restrooms.

“It’s okay to feel weird about it, you know. I mean, your mom, who walked out of your life without so much as a good-bye, shows up unannounced at your dad’s funeral.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play, Lyla, but I was there.”

“I’m just saying, it’s an uncomfortable situation and if you’re angry or upset, you’re not wrong for feeling that way.”

Sean pushes himself off the windowpane and turns his back to Lyla completely. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Lyla.”

He feels her hand on his shoulder, and as his best friend pulls him into a hug, the tears burst from his eyes like a broken dam, and he realizes that’s really why he was turning away. So Lyla wouldn’t see him starting to cry.

“Why would she come back after all this time?” he cries. “She cares enough about Dad to show up to his funeral, but not enough about me to send even a fucking card? Just an empty birthday card signed, ‘Love, Mom.’ Something,  _ anything _ would be better than the radio fucking silence.”

Lyla’s arms tighten around him, and Sean clutches her arm for support as he breaks down. She holds him as he cries, and he tries to stop it, because he’s so sick of crying, so sick of hurting, but he just can’t stop it.

“Sean?” Claire’s voice says from behind them. “Sweetie, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Sean lies, summoning the strength to cut the flow of tears. He grossly wipes his face on his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he breaks the hug with Lyla and pseudo-casually runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. We ready to go?”

Lyla warily gives Sean one last hug as they exit the banquet hall together. There’s only a few cars left in the parking lot, and even though it’s only 8:00, it feels like he’s just walked out into the dead of night. The brisk, November chill sinks into his bones.

“Call me any time, Sean. I mean it,” Lyla says, squeezing his hand before returning to her own car.

Sean climbs into the back seat next to a drowsy-looking Daniel. “Hey.” He pokes him, and Daniel stirs. “Can I have my phone back?”

Sleepily, Daniel nods and pulls it out of his pocket. Sean tries to turn the display on, but it stays blank. He long-presses the lock button, and the low battery indicator flashes on the screen in big red letters. Sean groans.

“Dude, I told you to charge this for me.”

“Sorry,” Daniel mumbles.

Sean scoffs and slumps down in his seat. No music, no movie, no messaging. This is going to be a long drive back to Beaver Creek.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s nearly midnight by the time they get back, and Daniel’s already fast asleep, so even though Claire tells Sean on the drive back that she wants to talk, everybody is too tired to do much of anything besides go to bed. Sean has to carry Daniel into the house, because there is nothing in this world that could wake the kid up right now. But once he’s tucked in, Sean doesn’t really feel like sleeping, despite the way his body drags with every step.

While Claire and Stephen get ready for bed, Sean sits at the kitchen table sketching. Hands are always tough, so he’s practicing those, using his own hand as a reference. It’s only slightly helpful.

As he draws, his phone is plugged in charging next to him. When it reaches 30%, he turns it back on, and his phone lags for a moment before finally displaying his new messages. Most of them are general condolence messages telling him how “wonderful” the service was, like he had any part in it. There’s a couple from Lyla, letting him know she got home safe. He sends her a quick text doing the same, apologizing for the late response. He doesn’t expect Lyla to be up, but she responds immediately.

_No worries. Everything okay?_

_Yeah,_ he replies. _Little shit forgot to charge my phone so I was completely cut off the entire ride back. -_-_

_You poor thing._

_I know, it’s like I was living in the stone ages or something. I was worried I’d have to send you messages via carrier pigeon._

_Glad to know you’ve left behind your Amish ways._

Sean lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. The way he and Lyla just casually fall back into their natural flow, joking around, teasing each other, it’s nice. It reminds him of his old life in a way that doesn’t feel completely crushing.

_Get some sleep, sister,_ Sean sends. _Talk to you in the morning._

_Alright,_ Lyla replies. _I’ll try. Goodnight, sweet prince._

After telling Lyla goodnight, he returns to his drawing, but upon looking at it a second time, the proportions are all fucked up, and they look super unnatural, and fuck, why are hands so hard to draw? He scribbles out the entire page and punctuates it with a crude doodle of a hand raising its middle finger. _Fuck this_ , he writes in the margins.

It’s kind of worrying how quickly Sean’s mood can change sometimes.

Giving up for the night, he slams his sketchbook closed and unplugs his charger from the wall, trudging up the stairs as silently as he can so he doesn’t wake anybody. Thankfully, Daniel doesn’t wake up when Sean opens the door to their bedroom. After plugging his phone back in, he quietly slips off his pants, unbuttons his dress shirt, and tosses them on the floor. Daniel shifts in the bed as Sean climbs in next to him, and Sean’s head feels suddenly heavy as it hits the pillow. He hadn’t been tired before but now that he’s in bed, he could almost...drift off...quicker than he expected…

“Sean?”

Daniel’s voice shakes Sean from his nearly-unconscious state. “Huh?” he mumbles, and shifts over in bed, looking at Daniel the best he can over his shoulder. “What is it, buddy?”

“Do you think there’s dreams up in heaven?”

Sean is too tired for this. “What do you mean?”

“Like, when I sleep, sometimes I dream about Dad,” he says. “Do you think...do you think Dad is up there, dreaming about us?”

“I…” Sean rolls over onto his back. The moonlight coming in from the window lends enough light for Sean to see the faint outline of the wardrobe out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not sure, _enano_.” He turns to look at Daniel. “You’ve been having dreams about Dad?”

Daniel rolls over, and Sean can see from the puffiness in his cheeks that he’s been crying. Guess the kid wasn’t actually asleep, after all. Sean reaches up and wipes a few stray tears from his face. “Yeah,” Daniel says.

“Are they good dreams?”

The hint of a smile upturns Daniel’s lips. “Uh huh. You’re there too, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Sean smiles. “Harsh.”

“Well, you’re not always that nice to me, so sometimes I don’t really want you in my dreams.”

Sean drops his smile. “Wow, that actually is kinda harsh. What...what do I do that’s not nice?”

“You’re always busy when I want to play. I’ve asked you like ten times this week if you wanted to play _Ultimate Wrestler_ with me but you keep saying no.”

“How is that not nice?” Sean asks. “I just have my own shit to deal with.”

“Yeah, but you always yell at me, and tell me to go away. Even before Dad died, you never had time for me.”

“I’m sorry, _enano_ ,” Sean says. “I didn’t mean to shut you out or anything. I just...have my own friends to hang out with.” He frowns. “ _Had_ my own friends to hang out with.”

“I know,” Daniel says. “And I have people like Noah, and Chris next door, but we used to hang out all the time. I just miss you, Sean.”

“How can you miss me? I’m right here.”

“It doesn’t feel like you are.”

With a sad look that Sean can only barely make out in the dim light, Daniel rolls back over and curls up with a stuffed animal. Sean lays on his back and stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up,” he says. “I’m trying my best. It’s just hard, you know?”

“You’re not the only one having a hard time,” Daniel mumbles. Sean doesn’t know how to respond.

Sean never knows how to respond.

# # #

Despite how hard he tried, sleep never came for Sean last night, apart from short bursts of restless, dreamless unconsciousness. As such, he wakes the next morning relatively early, and drags himself out of bed, because there is absolutely no use in trying to sleep any more. Daniel stirs beside him as he gets up, but isn’t roused enough to be woken.

Sean trudges downstairs and gets a pot of coffee started. The sun has only barely started to peek over the fence outside, so the whole of the house is filled with a quiet, somber darkness. 

Yawning as he pours his cup of coffee, Sean doses it with cream and sugar, then sits down at the kitchen table. He sips at his coffee absently, his mind nowhere near alert enough to process anything but the soft hum of the heater blowing. As his brain slowly starts to wake itself up, Sean notices how peaceful it is here early in the morning, before anybody else is awake, and he can watch the sun rise from the back door.

But, of course, like everything else in Sean’s life, even that can’t last. The kitchen light flickers on and Sean turns to see Claire walk into the room.

“Oh! Sean, you’re up.”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. Want some coffee?”

Claire pours herself a cup and sits down at the table across from him. “That was a beautiful service yesterday,” she says.

“Yeah, until Karen showed up and ruined it,” Sean says, scowling as he takes another sip of coffee.

“Her appearance was...unexpected, yes.” Claire pours some sugar into her cup and stirs it with a spoon.

“You seemed just as pissed to see her as I was.”

“I will admit, it was...surprising to see her there, and I may have overreacted.”

Sean scoffs. “If anything, I _under_ reacted. I should have ripped her a new one.”

“Sean,” Claire scolds.

He looks down into his cup. “Right, sorry.”

“I haven’t seen your mother since just before she left,” Claire says, taking a sip of her coffee. “She tried to explain her reasoning but I...I couldn’t understand, or I didn’t let myself understand. She made her choice all those years ago, Sean. It’s her life, she has a right to make that choice.”

“Sure, but she doesn’t get to make that choice only to come back when it’s convenient for her.”

“I agree with you, Sean. But maybe we shouldn’t be too harsh on her. She lost somebody as well.”

Sean scoffs. “Bullshit.” He sucks in his lips. “Uhh, sorry. I mean, that’s bull. She lost Dad nine years ago when she walked out on us. She should have done her mourning then.”

“Had your father died under other circumstances, I would be inclined to agree,” Claire says. “But the nature of Esteban’s death leaves a lot of things open-ended, for a lot of people. Your mother may have left us, but she could always return if she wanted to, she could always see Esteban again if she changed her mind. Now this choice has been taken away from her, and has robbed her of any chance at closure.”

“Whatever.” Sean takes a long sip of his coffee, letting the hot, bitter liquid singe his throat. He finishes the cup and gets up without a word to put it in the kitchen sink.

“You haven’t told your brother about her, have you?” Claire asks. “About seeing her yesterday?”

Sean rinses out his cup before leaving it in the sink, and dries his hands on the towel hanging off the oven handle. “No. But he asked me about it, so it’s only a matter of time before he gets fed up with me dodging his questions.”

“I think we should keep it that way.”

Sean leans against the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I do too. No reason he needs to know his mother’s a gigantic hypocrite.”

Claire sighs, gets up from her chair, and walks over to the sink to rinse out her own cup. After drying her hands, she pulls Sean into an unexpected hug. Sean is initially taken aback—he’s been sort of dodgy of shows of affection from his grandparents since he moved in—but maybe this was exactly what he needed right now, because he just returns the hug and melts into her compassionate embrace.

Sean forgot just how nice a hug from your grandmother could be.

Claire pulls back, and gives Sean a kiss on the forehead, which Sean immediately wipes off as soon as the hug is broken.

“You know,” Claire says, getting started on properly washing the two coffee cups. “Maybe...maybe it’s time we finally unlock that room upstairs. Clear it out.”

“Wait, you mean Karen’s room?”

“You boys certainly can’t keep living in that cramped little guest room forever, can you?” Claire puts the cups on the drying rack and wipes her hands off on the towel. She turns and smiles at Sean. “Or do you not want your own room?”

“Oh, I _definitely_ want my own room.” Not that Sean really minds sharing his bed with Daniel all that much anymore—it’s actually kind of soothing to have him there, kept the bed a little warmer—but having his own room again would be nice. The one thing he misses from his old life almost as much as Dad is his privacy.

But...living in Karen’s old room? Could he even stand to sleep where she slept? Maybe Daniel could take that room, but, well, Karen’s room _is_ a bit bigger than the guest room, if he remembers correctly. And having more space would be nice.

“It can be our weekend project.” Claire puts her hand on Sean’s shoulder. “We’ll spend some time clearing it out, maybe paint the walls or put some new wallpaper. We can turn it into your own personal space.”

“I’d like that,” Sean says. “It could be like...reclaiming it.”

“Maybe…” Claire hesitates. “Maybe you could ask your brother to help. It could give him some kind of closure with her.”

Is that a good idea? Would knowing what his mother did, who she was, only make him hurt more? Then again, Daniel has been asking about Karen a bit lately, and while Sean and Claire agreed they wouldn’t tell him she showed up to the funeral, maybe giving him some kind of connection with his only other living parent would make him feel better. Help him cope.

“I’ll think about it,” Sean says. He gives Claire another hug. “Thanks, Grandma.”

# # #

The coffee really helped Sean wake up, and he’s excited about the prospect of having his own room again, so he asks Claire for the key to Karen’s bedroom to get started on clearing it out.

“Feel free to keep anything from there,” Claire says, dropping a plastic storage box in front of the door. “Anything you don’t want, go ahead and put in this box, and Stephen and I will go through it and make sure there’s nothing we want to keep.”

“Okay,” Sean says, fitting the key into the lock and turning the knob. “Thanks again, Claire.”

“Of course, dear. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do!”

The first thing that hits Sean when he steps into Karen’s old room is the smell. It’s that kind of dusty old smell, like old books. But _way_ too strong. It’s not like he was expecting it to smell like lilacs and vanilla or anything, but man, is this brutal on the nose. To stop himself from sneezing, he crosses the room, tripping over boxes of Karen’s old shit, to open the window and let some fresh air in, pushing back the lavender curtains and letting the morning sun wash over the room.

Sean takes it all in. He’s been in here maybe once or twice as a kid, but it all looks so much smaller now that he’s grown. The dresser that used to be mountain to him now barely reaches his mid-torso. Bedsheets sit upon the bed that Sean used to be able to stretch all the way out in, pristinely made, as if waiting for its owner to return for the night. There’s an old, musty armchair in the corner of the room that looks comfy, despite the wear-and-tear. Sean might keep it, if he can manage to Febreeze the smell out.

It feels weird to be in here, kind of like back home when he went into Dad’s room to look for things to take with him. But still different, somehow. Going through Dad’s things felt wrong, because it felt like he was invading his privacy. He was still so freshly gone that it hadn’t fully registered in Sean’s subconscious that he wouldn’t get caught for being there. 

And with Dad, Sean was seeing him as he knew him. He saw the bedsheets Dad slept on every day, the clothes he always wore. And that hurt in ways Sean never thought possible. But here in Karen’s room, he’s seeing a side of her he’s never really seen before, a side of her that probably doesn’t even exist anymore. Sean can’t really picture the Karen he met at the funeral wearing ten different types of perfumes or fawning over boy bands.

Where to begin? Cleaning up this room will be a huge ordeal. Definitely more than a weekend project. The wallpaper is tattered and ripped, and Sean isn’t entirely convinced the smell of the room isn’t coming from moldy patches hiding behind it. The desk, dresser, and bookshelves are so dusty that Sean would need to wear a gas mask while cleaning them to stop himself from sneezing. And then, of course, there’s the dozen or so boxes piled in the corner, all filled with framed pictures, old books, anything that reminded Claire and Stephen of their wayward daughter.

Yeah, those can all go. Sean doesn’t want any reminders of her, either.

But because he’s a masochist, he starts combing through the boxes anyway. There’s so many photos of Karen as a little girl, Karen as a young adult. Even her wedding photo with Dad is here. It takes everything Sean’s got in him not to smash this one on sight. When he’s finished with a box, he drops it off in the hallway and pulls out another. 

Some of them have books that Sean can reasonably assume were Karen’s. Lots of poetry books, but there are a couple young adult romance novels, some fantasy and sci-fi, and a rather worn-down copy on Kafka’s _The Metamorphosis._ Sean flips through it, reading some of the notes left in the margins. Karen seemed to really identify with the main character, who wakes up one morning as a giant bug, and has to deal with his family’s changing feelings about him.

He sets that one aside.

It takes a few hours to go through all of the boxes, and in the end, he only decided to keep a few books, and an unlined notebook with only a few of Karen’s poems in them, which he can use as a sketchbook after he tears out the poems. By the time he’s stacked the last box outside the door, Daniel is awake.

“What are you doing?” he asks, still in his pajamas. He yawns as he meets Sean over by the boxes, making Sean yawn himself.

“Claire said I could have Mom’s old room,” Sean says. “I’m cleaning it out so we can fix it up.”

“Wait, why do you get Mom’s old room?”

“Because I’m older.” Sean laughs and ruffles Daniel’s hair. “Don’t worry, that spare room will feel like a castle once I’m out of it.”

“I guess,” Daniel says. He gestures to the boxes. “So what’s all this?”

“A bunch of old junk from Mom’s room,” Sean says. “Pictures and books and stuff.”

Daniel perks up. “Pictures? Like, of Mom as a kid?”

Daniel steps around Sean and opens one of the boxes on the ground. He pulls out a framed picture of Mom when she was Sean’s age. Her long blonde hair flows over her shoulders, and her braces-filled smile looks strained, but not ingenuine.

“Wow,” Daniel says. “She was so pretty.”

Sean laughs. “I guess. She gets prettier, though.” He kneels down and digs through the box, pulling out one of Karen’s senior photos. Her hair is even longer, and the braces are gone, and the relieved smile on her face just screams, _I’m so ready to be done with this place._

“I think she looked cooler with the braces,” Daniel says. “They make her look like a supercool robot.”

Sean doesn’t see how, but that’s the imagination of a kid for you.

“Do you think I could keep this one?” he asks, waving the “robot” picture around.

“You’ll have to ask Claire,” Sean says. “But I certainly don’t want it.”

Sean starts to head back into the room to start clearing out some of the things on the desk, when Daniel says, “Why do you hate Mom, Sean?”

Sean stops dead in his tracks. “I don’t…” He turns back around. “I don’t hate her, _enano_ ,” he says. “I’m...angry with her. She hurt me, hurt _us_ , real bad. I can’t stand her, and I never want to see her ever again, but I don’t...think I would go so far as to say that I _hate_ her.”

Daniel continues digging through the box of photos. He pulls out one of Karen with Claire and Stephen. Karen looks older, maybe early twenties? Even from here Sean can see the dissatisfaction on her face. “It sounds like hate to me,” Daniel says.

“Daniel…” Sean bemoans. He sighs, and squats down. “Listen, I can’t say that I know exactly how I feel about Karen, about Mom. It’s...all kind of confusing. Why does it matter what I think of Karen anyway?”

“I don’t want to hate Mom,” Daniel says. He pulls out another picture of Karen, this time closer to Daniel’s age. She’s got long pigtails and is missing her two front teeth. “I just want to know who she was. I want to know why she left.”

“I thought Dad told you.”

“All he said was that she didn’t really know what she wanted out of life. But I don’t know what he meant by that.”

“Karen wasn’t happy,” Sean says. “And she thought the only way to be happy was to leave.”

“But why?” Daniel asks. Sean can see he’s starting to tear up, so he wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a hug. “Why couldn’t she be happy with us, Sean? Why weren’t we good enough?”

This is stuff Sean’s thought about before, of course. Especially after Mom left, he spent a lot of time wondering where he went wrong, what he could have done to make her leave. Eventually he realized it wasn’t his fault, that Karen was just being selfish and didn’t care about him or Dad, or even baby Daniel. “I don’t know, _enano_ ,” Sean says. “I wish I did. And…” Sean hesitates, and then says something he never thought he would say. “And I wish we _were_ good enough.”


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the weekend is over, Sean still hasn’t finished clearing out Karen’s room. Claire had him and Daniel move the boxes downstairs into the basement. She said she wanted to go through them, to see what she would be okay getting rid of, but Sean doesn’t think she actually will. Not with the wound being reopened by Karen’s sudden and unwelcome appearance at Dad’s funeral. She might not ever get rid of Karen’s things, for the same reason Dad never did.

Sean decided he wants to keep the bookshelf—because that green and birchwood color scheme is actually kinda dope—and the armchair, which he did manage to make smell mostly tolerable. The desk, too, though Stephen promised they would buy him a new one soon, since this one is old and rickety and has hella cup rings. Sean considered keeping the bed, and just switching out the sheets to something a little more _him_ , but the idea of sleeping on the same bed that Karen slept in...he’s not a big fan.

Stephen said he would take Sean to the hardware store this weekend and they can pick out some paint to redo the mouldings, and maybe pick out some wallpaper if they have any. Is it bad that Sean’s getting actually excited about this? It hasn’t even been that long, but he misses having his own room. It being Karen’s room is not his favorite thing in the world, but in a way, he can sort of treat it as a _fuck you_ to her. Like, “ha! This is my space now!”

But all that will have to wait. Claire wants him to finish his homework for the week before doing more work on the room this weekend. Which is likely going to suck, since he’s starting mid-way through the semester. The teachers probably won’t make him do all of the semester’s work so far, but he’ll definitely have some catching up to do.

The sky is still pitch-black when Sean wakes up for school. High School starts way earlier than Elementary, so after Claire gently whispers at him that it’s time to get up, Sean has to be quiet to make sure he doesn’t wake Daniel.

As Sean showers and prepares for the day, his mind drifts to his brother. This will be the first day since the incident that Sean and Daniel will be apart for an extended period of time, and while he’s sure the kid can handle himself, he won’t be around to bring Daniel down if he starts to have a meltdown like at the funeral. It could be absolutely disastrous, especially because he doesn’t know about his powers.

Just another stressor to add to the first day of school.

Maybe Sean should have told him, since Daniel seems none the wiser. It’s clear his powers are linked to his emotions, so having Sean as an anchor has helped him stay level. But take that anchor away, and who knows what might surface.

After he’s dressed and about to leave to wait for the school bus, Sean catches sight of a legal pad sitting on the table behind the couch. He could always leave a note? They’re not usually the kind of brothers who leave loving notes to each other, but...the situation calls for it, so maybe it’s worth a shot. He grabs a pen and scrawls onto the page:

> _Hey_ enano,
> 
> _I’ll be gone by the time you wake up for school, so I won’t be around to say good-bye. I know it’s scary, the idea of starting all over with a new school, a new house, and new friends. But you should know that you're the dopest freaking nine-year old I’ve ever met, and everybody is going to love you. I mean it, Daniel. Just turn on the old Diaz charm and you’ll be the coolest dude on the playground. Obviously I can’t come with you to school (they don’t really let teenagers into the fourth grade) but if you get overwhelmed, just pretend I’m there with you. Don’t get into trouble, okay? I’ll see you after school. Love you little bro._
> 
> _-Sean_

There. That works, right? That doesn’t sound too...out of character for Sean? Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe it’ll just freak him out more. But if Daniel freaks out at school, Sean knows that he would just beat himself up for not trying to do something. He’s running behind, and the bus will be here any minute, so he doesn’t have time to second guess his wording. Instead, he just doodles a little wolf at the bottom of the page, and a bigger wolf chasing after it. Hopefully Daniel remembers their wolf conversation from the funeral.

“Sean,” Claire calls from upstairs. “You’d better get out there if you’re going to catch the bus.”

“Thanks, Claire,” Sean calls back. “I’m on my way out now.”

Sean picks up his backpack and leaves the note on the kitchen counter before heading out the door. The bus stop is at the end of the street, and there’s already a conglomerate of students huddled around it. Shrugging his backpack over his shoulder, Sean races over to the bus stop just in time to see the bus rounding the corner. He lets out a sigh of relief.

At least that’s one worry he can check off the list for today. No matter what else happens, at least he didn’t miss the bus on his first day.

# # #

Being the new kid at school is already hard enough without being the “dead dad kid.”

And being the dead dad kid is hard enough without also being the “police brutality kid.”

As Sean walks down the halls of Beaver Creek High, nearly everybody looks at him. Sean knows that some of them are probably just looking at him because he’s the new kid—somebody they don’t recognize, who also probably sticks out like a sore thumb against the whitewash that is the rest of the student body—but he just _knows_ a lot of them are looking at him because of the Incident.

It was covered in the papers. Everybody knows. His picture wasn’t in any of the articles, but in a small town like Beaver Creek, rumors likely spread like the common cold. As soon as someone gets wind of a brown kid moving in from Seattle, people are bound to make the connection. And so, everybody looks at him as though they’re stray cats, ready to sprint away the second he gets too close. Like they’re scared, like having a dead dad is contagious somehow.

“Here’s your schedule,” the office secretary says, handing him a sheet of paper. “Your homeroom class is in Hall F, room 102. Do you need help finding it?”

“I think I’m okay,” Sean says. “This school is a studio apartment compared to my old one. And I mean, the halls just go alphabetically, right?”

“Yep, that’s right. We’re in Hall B right now, to the left is A, and to the right is C. Keep going down that way and you’ll reach F, at the very end of the hall.”

A chimpanzee could figure that much out, but he thanks her anyway, and scurries down the hall to his homeroom. He checks his watch—another thing he swiped from Dad’s room before they left for Beaver Creek—and damn, he’s already late to class. He’s excused today, because he had to go pick up his schedule, but that means it’s unlikely he’ll go unnoticed.

Sure enough, everybody’s heads swivel in nearly perfect unison—which definitely doesn’t make this school seem straight out of a horror movie or anything—as he walks through the door. The teacher, a stout, middle-aged man with a shiny bald spot, looks up at him from his attendance sheet with mild confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Um,” Sean says. He’s already starting to sweat. “Yeah, I’m...I’m Sean, this is room 102, right? S-sorry, I’m new here.”

“Ah yes, Principal Hargreaves told me about you. Diaz, correct?”

God, don’t say his last name. Anybody who didn’t already know he was the Dead Dad Kid definitely does now. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

The teacher jots something down on the attendance sheet, and directs Sean towards an open desk in the back row. Oh, thank fuck. At least he won’t have to deal with all eyes being on him from back here. The teacher, who Sean checks his schedule and finds is named Mr. Graymore, finishes up attendance and begins lecturing about a book that Sean hasn’t read.

There’s no point in paying attention, since he won’t understand anything going on anyway, Sean pulls out his schedule and goes through his classes, making sure he knows where everything is. Lunch is fifth period, so that’ll be at about 11. He was too nervous to eat much of anything this morning, so his stomach is already growling.

After the bell rings, and people start filing out of the room, Mr. Graymore calls Sean up to his desk. A chill runs through him. Oh God, what did he do? Did he already fuck up on the first day? And of course, he has to call Sean out right in front of everybody. Uggggggh.

“Yeah, Mr. Graymore?” he says, impressed in himself that he remembered his name.

“Here's the syllabus, it has a list of all the books we’ll be reading from here until the end of the semester,” he says, handing Sean a piece of paper. “It’s also got a list of essay questions, which you’ll choose one of for your final paper. Do you have any questions for me?”

Oh, so he’s not in trouble. That’s a relief. “Um, no. I think I’m okay.”

“Good.” He sits back down at his desk and starts rummaging through papers. Sean turns to leave, but Mr. Graymore calls him back. “Oh, and Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He tenses. “Thanks.”

Sean smiles at him awkwardly before heading out the door to find his next class. God, he better not have to do this with every teacher today. Sean can’t handle getting pity handed to him every hour.

Fortunately, only one of his teachers singles him out before lunch period. Unfortunately, it’s his fourth period class and the teacher, Ms. Grant, calls him out right in the middle of class.

“Now, we have a new student joining us today. Sean, could you please raise your hand?”

_Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me._ Sean cautiously raises his hand, trying not to let the overwhelming anxiety show on his face.

“Sean just moved here from Seattle. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you any more for you to understand his situation.” Thanks for throwing him under the bus, Ms. Grant. “So please be welcoming of him as he adjusts to the sudden shift in his life.”

Thankfully, Sean is saved by the bell. He grabs his stuff and hurries out of the classroom just as everybody else is getting up to leave. Trying to shake off the embarrassment and tear out the pit forming in his chest, he rushes to the bathroom near the cafeteria, and locks himself inside one of the stalls.

It’s only now that it really hits Sean just how much life has changed since Dad died. He’s never been the “crying in the bathroom” type, but then again, he never really had this much of a reason to cry in the bathrooms before. He’s never had to deal with a dead dad, a superpowered brother, police protests in Dad’s name, a new home, and a new school. And he’s dealing with them all at once. If there’s ever reason to cry in the bathroom, this is it.

But he doesn’t want to miss out on all of lunch, and his stomach is growling like an angry wolf, so he forces his tear ducts to close, wipes his eyes off on his sleeve, and is about to leave the stall, when he hears a flush, followed by the sink turning on. Shit, somebody else is in here. Somebody heard him crying.

Maybe he should just stay in here until they leave. Save him some embarrassment. But then Sean hears the door to the stall next to him close, which means there’s somebody else in here, so he decides, fuck it. Who’s gonna give the dead dad kid shit anyway?

Sean flushes the toilet to keep up appearances, and when he exits the stall, there’s a boy washing his hands at one of the two sinks. Sean takes the other one, washing his hands and then splashing his face with a bit of cold water. He and the other boy both reach for the paper towel at the same time, and they both pull their hands away awkwardly.

“Go ahead,” the boy says with a nervous chuckle. “You’re dripping.”

“Heh, thanks,” Sean says, and takes a sheet of the rough, brown paper towel and dries off his face. It feels a little like sandpaper, but at least he’s dry now. 

The boy finishes drying his hands as Sean is leaving the restroom, and follows him out. “Hey, you’re uh, you’re Sean, right?” he says.

Sean looks at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, why?”

“I just...sorry for the intrusion, but I heard you crying in there.”

Ugh, great. Now is he going to make fun of him or pity him? Please make fun of him.

Sean starts to walk away, because he really doesn’t want to hear whatever this dude is going to say next. But the boy speedwalks after him, saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject. I just wanted to...offer my condolences. That really sucks what happened to your dad. I’m Kent, by the way.”

_That really sucks_? Yeah, that’s the understatement of the fucking millennium. “Thanks, Kent, but I’m really not looking for any pity.”

“No, I know! Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I just figured, you know, you’re new here, you probably don’t have any friends—not like, because nobody wants to be your friend or anything just because you’re new and you haven’t had time to make any yet and, oh you know what I mean. Sorry. I just...wanted to say hi, and ask if you wanted to sit with me at lunch.”

“I honestly would rather be alone right now,” Sean says. “But I appreciate the offer.”

And he actually does appreciate the offer. It’s the first act of kindness Sean’s experienced since he got here that didn’t feel like an obligation. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming out of pity, but more out of genuine empathy and friendliness. Which is cool.

“Okay,” Kent says. “Sorry for bothering you. Let me know if you change your mind, though.”

Kent rushes off towards the cafeteria, and Sean follows behind at a relaxed pace. When he reaches the cafeteria, he’s overwhelmed by the scope of it.

Beaver Creek High may be smaller than Peacock, but there’s still at least 200 students here, and they all seem to have the same lunch period. While the lighting in the halls is muted by the covers over the fluorescent lights, shaded by the dark earthy color palette of the walls and tiling, the cafeteria is bright and blinding, energetic in its bright white painted walls with colorful shapes and accents that make the place look straight out of a TV show from the early 1990s. Students litter the long lunch benches, their collective chatter coalescing into a steady stream of white noise.

He stands there, dumbfounded for a second, before working up the nerve to step inside and join the lunch line. Some of the other kids watch him skeptically, but Sean doesn’t notice. At least, he tries not to. He pretends not to.

After exiting the lunch line with a tray of marble pizza bagels and chicken nuggets that are only slightly thawed, he scans the room for a place to sit. He _really_ doesn’t want to sit with anybody, not today. Maybe not ever, but definitely not today. But there doesn’t seem to be a single section of any of the tables that doesn’t have over a dozen kids piled into it. There’s nowhere for Sean to sit where he won’t be within talking distance of somebody else.

Somebody bumps into Sean from behind, and he scrambles to keep his food on his plate.

“What the fuck are you just standing around for, shithead?”

Sean turns and is faced with a gigantic wall of testosterone and toxic masculinity—in other words, a meathead jock in a varsity jacket. He’s tall and bulky and wears his hair in a near-buzz cut.

“S-sorry,” Sean mutters.

The jock scowls at him. “Oh, you’re that new kid, right?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Well, keep it moving. Sorry for calling you a shithead.”

His face is still aggressive, but his words drip with rehearsed sympathy. Like he knew he would have to deal with Sean and his problems so he’s holding himself back.

Sean would almost rather be called a shithead.

The jock stomps off, and Sean’s heart rate is only just returning to normal, when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns around to see a cute girl with long blonde hair.

“Don’t mind Kevin,” she says. “He’s kind of a hardass sometimes, but he’s a decent guy.”

“Okay,” Sean says. Like, what else is he supposed to say to that?

“I’m Madelyn, by the way.”

“Uhh, Sean.”

She smiles softly at him. “I know.”

Sean can feel himself starting to blush, so he coughs into his shoulder and excuses himself to go find a table.

“Oh, you can sit with us if you want.” Madelyn motions towards the table that the jock, Kevin, sat down at, where he’s stuck two french fries into his mouth to form walrus-like teeth. He’s surrounded by four other boys, all of whom are laughing, and a brunette girl, who looks like she would rather be drowning in a vat of toxic chemicals than watching this sorry display.

Sean feels her pain. “Um, no thanks,” he says. “I’d...I’d rather be on my own. Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries,” she says, and Sean is about to walk off, when she adds, “Hey, by the way. I saw you talking to Kent Mathers in the hall.”

“More like he was talking to me.”

She leans in towards him and lowers her voice. “Well, I’d be careful around him if I were you.”

“What? Why?”

“Kent is...gay,” she whispers it, like it’s a curse word she doesn’t want to get caught saying.

Sean shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Okay? That’s...why is that a problem?”

“He was probably hitting on you.”

“So?”

“ _So_ ? Isn’t that weird? Do you _want_ guys hitting on you?”

This is very quickly becoming a very unpleasant conversation. “I don’t...really care?”

Sean should have expected some of this, moving from a school in the city to one in a small, Christian town. But this is outright homophobic, which is not something he was expecting. Like, what year is it? 1999? Sean knew some gay people back in Seattle—some of his best friends were, in fact—so Sean has never really had a problem with it. And even if he didn’t know anybody who was gay, he still wouldn’t have a problem with it. They’re just people, right? Who cares what gender they’re attracted to?

“Wait,” Madelyn says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Are _you_ gay?” Then she adds, at breakneck speed, “I mean, it’s totally cool if you are, I don’t really care, personally. Gay people are totally cool.”

“Haha, no. Definitely not,” Sean says.

“Okay, good,” Madelyn says, completely contradicting her previous statement. “Well, let me know if you want to join us sometime. If you’re looking for a more private place to have lunch, you could always go to the commons.” She nods her head towards a door on the opposite end of the cafeteria, next to the large double doors he entered from.

“What are the commons?” Sean asks.

“It’s basically just a second lunchroom, but only juniors and seniors are allowed. It’s a bit quieter, and it has a really nice view of the courtyard outside. It’s right by the main entrance, so I’m sure you passed it on your way in.”

“Oh, okay,” Sean says. “Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem!” Madelyn says, like she doesn’t even realize how much Sean’s opinion of her has already dropped by her gay comments. “Sorry about your dad!” She smiles at him cheerfully and then goes off to join her friends’ table.

Sean takes Madelyn’s advice and heads through the door she pointed out into the commons. The commons are a wide open area with a bunch of tall, rounded tables with high stools as seats. There’s a couple shorter tables near the back of the room, and an à la carte booth against the far wall. There’s a smattering of people here and there, but it’s far less crowded than the cafeteria proper.

It’s perfect.

Sean takes an open table near the back and sets down his tray, taking in the commons as a whole. Madelyn was right; there’s a really nice view of the courtyard. Scattered trees and bushes dot the entranceway, between stone columns holding up the concrete high-rise that shrouds the school entrance in shadow. Sean’s bus was further back in the lineup, so he ended up taking the back doors, making this view brand new to him. It’s kind of pretty, actually. Sean makes a mental note to bring his sketchbook tomorrow so he can draw this.

# # #

Sean gets back from school around 2:45, and he walks in to see Daniel sulking on the couch, which is significant, because he knows the elementary school doesn’t get out until 3.

“What are you doing home, _enano_?” Sean asks.

“He’s in time-out,” Claire answers him from the other room. Sean hears the washer door slam closed, and seconds later, Claire joins him in the kitchen, with the same pissed-off expression on her face that Mom used to get when she was mad at him. Like mother, like daughter.

Sean sets his backpack down on one of the kitchen chairs and pulls out that list of books Mr. Graymore told him to get. “Dude,” he says, turning back to Daniel. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Daniel pleads. “I swear!”

“I got a call from his teacher around lunchtime,” Claire says. She passes through the kitchen and starts tidying up the living room, absently picking up books and placing them on shelves, picking up Daniel’s toys while she talks. Claire’s a nervous cleaner. “He was sent home because he apparently shoved another child at recess hard enough to injure him.”

“Whoa!” Sean looks at his brother incredulously. “Dude, what the hell?”

“I didn’t even push him that hard! Swear! I barely touched him and he just flew back! He probably just wanted attention so he pretended that I pushed him way harder.”

“He sprained his ankle!” Claire says.

Daniel looks over the couch at Sean. “I didn’t mean to hurt him! I swear! You believe me, right Sean?”

Shit. Of course Sean believes him. Daniel’s scrawny as hell, there’s no way he could have pushed someone hard enough to sprain his ankle. It has to have been his powers.

Damn it, if only Sean could have been there.

“Daniel,” Sean groans. He joins Daniel on the couch and squeezes his shoulder. The poor kid looks like he’s about to cry. “I told you specifically not to get in trouble. Didn’t you read my note?”

“I did!” Daniel shouts. “That’s why I got into the stupid fight anyway. I brought it with me and this one kid Mike found it and he read it out loud and tried to embarrass me, but it didn’t work, so he ripped it up, and I got mad and —”

“Okay, okay, _enano_ , I believe you.” Sean wraps his arms around him. “Just...try and keep your emotions in check, okay? I’m not gonna be around all the time to protect you.”

“Okay, Sean,” Daniel says, hugging his big brother back. “Thanks for believing in me.”

“This is all very sweet,” Claire says. “But you’re still grounded, Daniel. You know better than to push people.”

“I know…” Daniel mopes.

“No PlayBox for a month.”

“A month?!”

“You heard me, Daniel. Now, go to your room!”

Daniel groans, and shoots Sean a pleading look, but there’s nothing to be done, so he sulks up the stairs and slams the door to their bedroom. Claire collapses into the couch with an exasperated sigh. “Never in my life would I have expected I would have to deal with rambunctious children in my home again,” she says, laughing slightly.

“Karen was rambunctious?” Sean says. This is news to him, and it makes him smile.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. She’s the _real_ reason my hair went gray.”

It’s funny to think about Karen as a kid, acting wild and hyper like Daniel does. When Karen was Mom, she always seemed sort of quiet and reserved. Maybe she had just matured, or maybe she was just unhappy. Whatever the case, it doesn’t even matter anymore.

“I guess I’ll go check on Daniel,” Sean says. “Make sure he’s doing okay.”

“Good. You play good cop to my bad cop.” Claire stiffens. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

Sean waves her comment away. “Yeah, don’t worry. I already know there’s no such thing as a good cop.”

# # #

Sean hears Daniel’s whimpering through the door before he even opens it, and when he does, he sees his brother sitting in the corner behind the space heater, with his back to Sean. “Go away,” he says.

“Daniel, it’s me.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dude,” Sean says, crossing the room and sitting down on the bed. “Relax. It’s only a month.”

Daniel sniffs and wipes his face with his arm, but he doesn’t turn back around. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was just...mad. I wanted to make him sorry for what he did, but…”

“I know you didn’t, _enano_.” Sean gets up and pushes the space heater out of the way. Daniel takes this as his cue to finally turn around and face Sean, but he still won’t look him in the eyes. “But you gotta be careful. You’re...stronger than you realize.”

Man, Sean should really just stop beating around the bush. Daniel has to realize that something is up. They should talk about it together. But...how is Sean even supposed to breach the subject? _Hey Daniel, by the way. I noticed back in Seattle that you might have superpowers. Also I’m pretty sure you killed a cop._ Yeah, no. Not gonna happen.

“Now Noah is gonna think I hate him,” Daniel says.

“Huh?”

“Since we moved, the only way I can talk to Noah is through voice chat in Minecraft, and if I can’t go on for a whole month, he’s gonna think I don’t like him any more.”

Oh, so that’s why he’s reacting so strongly. Sean’s surprised he hasn’t seen things start flying off shelves in their room. “I’ll talk to Claire,” Sean says. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

“Okay,” Daniel says. “Thanks, Sean.”

“Of course, buddy,” Sean says, giving him a hug. “Any time.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you gonna finish that?”

Daniel points to the lone pancake on Sean’s plate that’s drowning in syrup. Sean is still stuffed from the other three pancakes he’s had, so he slides the plate over to him and goes back to propping his head up with his arm and daydreaming.

He’s been in Beaver Creek for about two weeks now, and it’s not as bad as he was expecting. But he still can’t shake the homesickness in his gut. For all intents and purposes, this  _ is _ his home now, but it just doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he’s just on an extended stay with his grandparents, like they used to do when Mom was still around. 

They’d come up every Christmas Eve, and Claire would roast a turkey for dinner, and then drag them to late-night mass, which Sean always fell asleep during. And then in the morning, they’d open presents. There was this one Christmas when Sean was maybe four or five, when Claire got him one of those giant art sets, the kind that are really low-quality for actual artists, but for a kid who was just learning to love drawing, it was like owning his own art studio.

As great as those Christmases were, they always had a home to return to. But now...

Hopefully, once his new room is finished, he’ll be able to start treating this place like home, and he can ditch this purgatorial feeling of not belonging.

Geez.  _ Purgatorial?  _ He’s been hanging around Claire too much. If he isn’t careful, he might end up playing bridge with her church friends next weekend.

“Well, that was certainly a hefty sigh,” Claire says, taking his dish and starting to rinse it off in the sink. “Are you alright?”

Sean didn’t even realize he had sighed. “Huh? Yeah. Oh, I could have gotten that,” Sean says.

Claire chuckles and waves him off. “It’s alright, sweetie. How were the pancakes?”

“They were delicious,” he tells her with a sincere smile.

Claire starts talking about something, but Sean is only partially paying attention. That’s kind of been his default state the last two weeks, sort of half there, half somewhere else, drifting through life like a log down a stream. He misses home, he misses his friends, and he misses Dad. Dealing with one of those would be hard enough, but all at once? It’s suffocating, like the world is holding a pillow over his face.

“Hey Sean?” Daniel says, popping the thought bubble hanging over Sean’s head. “Grandma said that me and Chris could go to the comic book store, even though I’m grounded. Could you take me?”

“Why do  _ I _ have to take you?” Sean scoffs.

“‘Cause Grandma has choir practice and Grandpa is sleeping.”

“Honestly, that man will sleep at any time but bedtime,” Claire chuckles. “You should take your brother to the store, Sean. It’s not far.”

“Why can’t Chris’s dad take them?”

A silence falls over the room, the unspoken reason lingering in the air. Claire finishes cleaning and rinsing off a dish and sets it in the drying rack. Daniel shifts in his seat.

“Right,” Sean says, pushing his chair back. “I’ll go grab my coat.”

It’s only part-way through November, but Beaver Creek has already blown its Christmas load. Claire and Stephen go pretty hardcore when it comes to Christmas—they already made Sean and Daniel help put up decorations, like the lights Sean had to string up around the outside of the house so Stephen wouldn’t have to break his back doing it—but it’s nothing compared to the town itself.

An enormous pine tree stands in the center of the small plaza, wrapped in tinsel and covered with colorful ornaments. All of the shops have lights up, and on almost every door hangs a wreath. It’s nuts. Dad never really decorated the house for Christmas. Just a tree, some ornaments, and presents underneath. A Nativity scene outside, which Daniel accidentally destroyed one year (sorry baby Jesus!). That was all they needed. Still, it’s kind of magical how everything in town is lit up and jolly.

Daniel especially takes in the sights with pure awe. Chris looks happy to see the lights, but he’s lived here for a few years, so it’s probably not as jaw-dropping as it is for a first-timer.

“Sean, look at that!” Daniel shouts, pointing to a bakery window with a mannequin dressed up in Santa Claus attire, holding a tin of what looks to be some kind of pie. Cherry, maybe? It looks  _ really _ good.

But Sean wants to make sure he’s in shape to try out for the track team next year, so he’s been trying his hardest to stave off sweets. At least, sweets that aren’t Claire’s pancakes and waffles and her homemade raspberry tarts. If Sean didn’t know any better, he’d say Claire was trying to fatten him and Daniel up to stuff them in the oven. But no, she’s just a grandma, doing what grandmas do. He wasn’t sure at first, but now Sean thinks Claire is happy to have them around. She’s never really gotten to do the whole “grandma” thing, so she’s just making up for lost time.

The boys are zipping around the street like the sugar-buzzed kids they are, but Sean’s just been laying back, watching them from a distance to make sure they stay out of trouble. His hands are stuffed in the pocket of his winter coat, keeping them warm, and also giving Sean access to his phone so he can change the music playing through the one earbud he’s got in.

“C’mon, Daniel!” Chris calls from down the street. “The comic book store is this way!”

Daniel’s too caught up in the magic of main street to care, however. He calls back to Chris that he’ll be there in a minute, but keeps looking in the window of one of the shops.

Sean finally catches up to him. He puts a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and peers into the window in front of them. “What you looking at,  _ enano? _ ”

The store they’re in front of is a used bookstore, which strikes Sean as odd, because Daniel’s never really shown much of an interest in reading, besides the occasional comic book, Dr. Seuss, and Sean’s old copy of  _ Superfudge.  _ But something in the window has captured Daniel’s interest. He points to a small, worn-out paperback, sitting on a stand resting on top of a stack of hardcovers. The colors on the front cover have faded, but it’s still more or less in-tact.

“Isn’t that the movie Dad liked?” Daniel says.

Sean squints and leans in to get a better view, and sure enough, it’s a copy of  _ Chupacabras from Outer Space _ . The cover is similar to the movie poster, but with a different font, and a slightly different art style. If Sean had to guess, the film took inspiration from the original book cover for its poster. “Huh. I didn’t even know that  _ was _ a book.”

“Me neither.”

Something starts bubbling up inside Sean’s stomach. It’s this anxious, nagging feeling he gets sometimes when he thinks about Dad. It’s different from the overwhelming grief and sadness, though. It’s more...active, like it’s driving him towards something.

He pats Daniel on the back. “Hey, go catch up with Chris, okay? I’ll be right there. Don’t go far.”

“Okay!” Daniel says, looking only mildly pensive at Sean’s reaction before running down the street and rounding the corner with Chris.

Sean looks at the book in the window for another moment, before heading inside the bookshop. An elderly lady with a sincere smile greets him as he walks in.

The whole store smells like old books, a smell Sean has recently come to appreciate, occasionally snatching something from Claire’s library to kill time when he’s not doing homework. Most of her books are weird romances, but she’s got a couple classics in there, and a collection of Agatha Christie novels.

“Hey, how much for that  _ Chupacabras _ book in the window?”

“Chupacabras  _ from Outer Space _ ?” the lady behind the counter says with the whitest pronunciation of the word possible. “We’ve had that one around for ages. You want it? It’s yours.”

“Whoa, really?”

The lady shrugs and throws him a slanted smile. “Sure, kid. Think of it as a gift to welcome you to the neighborhood.” 

Man, Beaver Creek really is a small town. It seems everybody here has already heard of him. Sean was about to wonder how they even knew he was the new kid, until he remembers there’s probably not a lot of brown kids walking around these streets.

“Thank you so much!” Sean returns her smile and goes to pick up the book from the window display.

The book feels like an ancient sacred text in his hands, even though it’s just some paperback thriller from the 1950s. The pages are yellowed and curled at the edges with age, and the cover has a glossy finish that’s been mostly rubbed off. There’s a tear at the lower edge of the cover, but the book itself seems to be in decent enough condition to read. He thumbs through the pages, sending dust particles flying and nearly making Sean sneeze. But it has that old book smell, and it fills Sean’s heart with ease.

He turns the book over and reads the blurb on the back.  _ An exciting and terrifying thriller, Jorge Vargas crafts an intricate mystery filled to the brim with suspense. When chupacabras are discovered in Northern Mexico—  _

“Ahhhhh!”

Huh? That sounded like…

“Daniel!” Sean stuffs the book in his pocket and bolts out the door. He looks up and down the street. People are looking around, and some of them have started herding in the direction of the scream, but he can’t see the boys anywhere. Damn it, he told them not to go far. But no, they can’t have gone too far, if Sean can still hear him scream. He races down the street, pushing through the crowd, and rounds the corner he saw them go down and—

In front of a tall stone statue of a boujee-looking man with a cane, he sees Chris, suspended in the air, a foot or two above the ground like he’s flying, and Daniel, to the side, holding his arm out and squeezing his eyes shut.

“D-Daniel, what…”

Sean’s voice breaks Daniel’s concentration, and his eyes snap open. Chris drops to the ground with a grunt.

“Sean! I…”

Chris pulls himself up and dusts himself off, staring at Daniel with a wide-eyed wonder. “ _ Dude! _ ” he shouts excitedly. “You’re a freaking  _ superhero! _ ”

So he was right. He really,  _ really _ wasn’t imagining it. Sean would almost be relieved if he wasn’t scared out of his fucking mind. Daniel  _ actually _ has superpowers. He  _ actually _ blew up their street.

He actually killed that police officer.

Sean rushes over to Daniel, gets down on his knees and grabs him by the arms. “Daniel, are you okay?”

“I...I think so.” Daniel’s face is getting droopy, and even with Sean steadying him, he seems off-balance. “My head feels a little...woozy.”

Daniel stumbles and collapses into Sean’s arms.

“Daniel? Daniel?!” Sean is starting to freak now, but Daniel mumbles something incoherent and sighs, and Sean feels the weight of his panic drop off his shoulders. He’s just asleep. He tired himself out.

The crowd has started to gather, but it doesn’t appear that they saw anything they shouldn’t have. Some people are asking if they’re okay, but nobody seems to be particularly scared of the telekinetic grade schooler, so they’re probably safe for now, Sean thinks.

Sean lifts Daniel up over his shoulder and turns to Chris, who’s still looking at them with a mix of wonder and worry. “Chris. Can you keep a secret?”

# # #

Sean watches as Daniel and Chris run around their backyards, trying out Daniel’s new “superhero” abilities. He admits, it is cute as hell, seeing the two of them so happy and carefree. But Sean knows he and Daniel are going to have to have a really serious discussion tonight.

He made sure Claire was still gone and Stephen was still asleep, and told the boys to stay in the backyard, being careful not to be seen. They’re only trying to lift stones and twigs with Daniel’s powers, but Daniel doesn’t seem to understand yet just how dangerous it could be if somebody found out about them.

At the same time, though, Sean’s proud of him.  _ Really _ proud. He saved Chris’ life. On the way back, Chris had told them, they’d been playing around, climbing to the top of the statue—which is apparently a statue of the founder of Beaver Creek, so, the more you know!—and Chris slipped and fell. Once Daniel woke up and gave his side of the story, he said he didn’t even know what he was doing, he was just scared for Chris, and then it just happened.

The sound of the Reynolds’ car pulling up the driveway hits Sean’s ears. “Guys, cut it out, Claire’s back!”

Daniel drops the sticks he’d been trying to use to literal air-drum, and the three of them head back inside. The front door opens, the bells on the Christmas wreath jingling as Claire closes it behind her.

“Hi, Grandma!” Daniel calls out, not at all suspiciously.

“Hi, Claire!” Chris chimes in.

“Chill, guys,” Sean whispers.

Claire enters the kitchen, struggling with a paper bag in her arms. “Hi, boys,” she says. “I picked up some groceries on the way home.”

Sean offers to help with the bag, and takes it from her with minimal effort. As he sets it down on the counter, he spies a bag of Gala apples, which can only mean that Claire is planning on baking an apple pie.  _ Mmmmm. _

“How was the comic book store?” Claire asks, setting her purse down on the counter and beginning to put the groceries away.

Sean and Daniel look at each other, and Daniel stutters. “Uhh…”

“It was fine,” Sean lies. Daniel looks at him incredulously.

They didn’t actually end up going to the comic book store. The statue incident took a lot out of Daniel, so they immediately rushed him home to rest. He woke up pretty soon after that, as chipper and energetic as ever, but Sean was really worried for a while.

“That’s lovely. Did you boys get the new comic you were looking for? Super Bear, right?”

“Power Bear!” Chris corrects.

Daniel looks over at Sean, expectantly. “They were all out,” he says. “I-it’s a new issue, so they only had so many there. Guess we just took too long getting there.”

Dude, did Daniel just lie to Claire? Sean did just so she wouldn’t find out about what happened at the statue, but  _ man _ the kid’s a bad liar. Too many details, dude. If there’s one thing Sean learned living at home, it’s that the simpler the lie, the easier it is to believe. He once told Dad he was going over to Lyla’s for a study party with Eric and Ellery, but really the two of them were just going to the skatepark, after being grounded earlier that week. Dad found out  _ super _ easily when he called Lyla’s mom, but when he went over to her place to smoke, he just told her they were hanging out. When he asked what they did, he said, “We just chilled. Listened to some music.”

Both of which were true, by the way. The key is to make sure the little details of your lie actually have some truth to them.

“Uh, y-yeah!” Sean stammers. “Main street looked super cool all decorated for Christmas, and I found something in a used book store that I wanted to get. So I guess it was kind of my fault.”

Daniel tackles his brother with a hug. “It’s okay, Sean! I just had fun hanging out with you.”

“Dude, dial it down,” Sean hisses through clenched teeth.

“But I did…” Daniel frowns.

Claire finishes putting away the groceries and starts pulling out pots and pans to get started on dinner—and likely, her pie. If she suspects the two of them are lying, she’s not letting it show. “That’s lovely, boys. I’m glad you two are having a good time.”

“I should probably get home,” Chris says. “Dad’s probably waking up right about now. He likes to nap during the day sometimes, especially on weekends. I’m not supposed to wake him up, so I came over here.”

Claire tries not to look concerned, but she’s really bad at hiding it. Which actually puts Sean a bit more at ease about the whole lying thing. If she suspected them, it would have been more obvious. 

“Okay, Chris,” Claire says as Chris starts to head out the back door. “Give your dad my best. Tell him to come over any time he needs something.”

“I will!” Chris calls, already halfway across the yard. “Bye, Daniel!”

“Bye, Chris!” Daniel shouts from the back door.

Claire starts making dinner, which means this conversation is probably over, and Sean doesn’t have to lie anymore. He sinks into the couch with a hefty sigh, and Daniel follows suit.

“Dude,” Sean whispers. “You gotta cool it around Claire, okay? We don’t want her to suspect anything.”

“I know,” Daniel whispers back. “But I hate lying to her. Maybe we can just tell her the truth.”

“We don’t even fully understand this thing, Daniel. We can’t let anybody else know.”

“But she’s our grandma!”

“She’s also like, hella religious, dude. You have no idea if she’ll think you’re like, a messenger from God, or the spawn of Satan himself.”

Daniel considers this, and then pouts. “I’m not sure which would be worse.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Sean lays back and groans. His limbs feel like spaghetti. They hadn’t walked all that far, but after the adrenaline wore off, his body started to feel heavy, like moving at all took too much energy. Who knew panic like that could wear you out so easily? It’s barely 3:30, but he already feels like he needs a nap.

# # #

Okay, so  _ Chupacabras from Outer Space _ is  _ really _ good, actually. Way different from the movie. Like, it’s definitely still popcorn-horror/thriller material, but for what it is, it’s a  _ hella _ fun read.

The main character, Marco, is obsessed with finding the  _ chupacabras _ because he’s convinced they killed his dad (relatable). He’s so much fun to read about because he’s just an  _ idiot _ , always running into danger at the drop of a hat. And along the way, he meets this girl named Carmen, and obviously he’s super taken by her but at first she doesn’t want anything to do with him, but then the  _ chupacabras _ attack and they’re forced to work together to escape—and Sean loves that kinda shit, unlikely allies who are constantly at each other’s throats but have to cooperate if they want to live.

God, but then the  _ chupacabras _ take them aboard their spaceship, and there’s this whole scene where—

“Is that the book you got today?”

Sean looks up, Daniel’s standing there, wearing pajamas and drying his hair off from his shower. He nods to the book in Sean’s hands.

“Oh.” Sean lifts the book so he can see the cover. “Yeah, it is. It’s really good.” He glances over at the alarm clock next to their bed, and it says 10:32. Wow, he came up to read after dinner, so he’s been sitting here for nearly four hours. He takes the opportunity to stretch out his back.

“Cool! Think I could read it when you’re done?”

“I think it might be a little difficult for you to read right now,  _ enano _ ,” Sean chuckles. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Daniel beams. He tosses the towel aside and excitedly hops up onto the bed, making Sean bounce. “Yes! Yes, please!”

Sean glances at the page he was on—143. Damn! He’s almost halfway done by now—and commits the cardinal sin of dog-earing the page to go back to. He flips back to the first page, and looks over at Daniel, who’s clutching a stuffed elephant to his chest and watching Sean excitedly.

Speaking of elephants, though...Maybe it’s time to address the one in the room. Sean closes the book and sets it down next to him.

“Daniel, we need to talk.”

“Aww, come on, you said you’d read to me!”

“I know, I know. I will after, okay? Today was…” Sean’s eyes drift over to the book at his side, remembering everything that transpired after the lady at the shop gave it to him. “Daniel, do you know how long you’ve had these powers?”

Daniel’s face drops, and he sets the elephant aside. “Um, not really. I mean, today’s the first day I ever used them, so…”

So he doesn’t know. Shit. That’s going to make this harder, if he’s got to keep the truth from him. If Daniel already knew about what happened in Seattle, then it would be easier to talk about it. But...no, Sean can’t tell him. He’s only nine. He doesn’t deserve to be burdened with the knowledge that he, however unintentionally, took someone’s life.

“So no one else knows about them? You only discovered them today.”

Daniel nods.

“Good. We need to keep them a secret.”

“How come?”

“Because…” Sean sighs. “It’s dangerous. If the wrong person finds out about your powers, they could...try to use you or something! The government might come and abduct you for weird experiments!”

Daniel’s face widens with terror. He grabs the elephant and hides his face in it. “I don’t want to be experimented!” he says, his voice muffled by the plush.

Sean puts his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “I won’t let anyone experiment on you, Daniel. I’m going to keep you safe, no matter what, okay?” Daniel nods. “But you have to try and keep yourself safe, too, okay?”

“Okay…”

“And you need to make sure Chris keeps it secret, too.”

“He will! I promise.”

Sean smiles, trying to put his brother at ease. He’s not sure if it’s working. “Hey, I’m proud of you,  _ enano. _ ”

“For what?”

“For saving Chris. Using your powers like that to save his life? You’re like a superhero, man! You’re...Superwolf!”

And there’s that smile of his again, creeping out from behind the elephant’s ears. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Sean says, grinning and tickling his brother in the sides. Daniel laughs and flails and whacks Sean with the elephant.

“Hahaha, quit it!” he giggles. Daniel falls backwards onto the bed, and Sean relents in his vicious tickle attack, letting Daniel catch his breath. When he does, Sean ruffles his hair and playfully bonks him on the cheek with his fist.

“Alright, little dude, it’s past your bedtime. We should get some sleep.”

“Nuh uh! Story first! You  _ promised! _ ”

Sean gives an exaggerated sigh, and pulls the book back out. Daniel sits up and puts his back against the wall, and Sean curls up next to him, putting his arm around Daniel’s shoulder.

“Chapter One,” he reads. “Of three things Marco de la Rosa was certain: one, the  _ chupacabras _ killed his father; two, they would strike again; and three, he  _ really _ hated the countryside. As his car sped past the fields and farms in the dead of the night, the headlights were like two tractor beams pulling him forward...”

Sean continues reading until the end of the first chapter, but Daniel has fallen asleep well before then. He knows because he feels Daniel’s head fall against his chest. But he keeps reading because, well, he wanted a story, so he’s going to get one.

When he’s finished, Sean moves out of the way as gently as he can and lays Daniel down on the bed. The kid is so freaking cute when he’s asleep. He can be an annoying little ball of energy during the day, but he looks so peaceful as he sleeps. “Good night,  _ enano _ ,” he whispers, smiling to himself before grabbing a pair of shorts and heading to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed, himself.

It’s been a  _ long _ day, so the bed is insanely inviting when he gets back. He shuts off the light, climbs in next to Daniel, and falls asleep moments after his head hits the pillow.


	8. Chapter 8

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Sean takes in a heavy breath. He’s just spent the afternoon clearing all of the furniture out of Karen’s old room so they could strip the wallpaper off and paint over the walls. And the whole time Sean kept thinking,  _ Man, this would go so much quicker if Daniel could use his powers _ . But Stephen refused to let the boys do it by themselves, and they can’t have Daniel use his powers in front of him. So they did it the hard way. At least with three people it went by a little quicker than it would if it was just Sean, even though the other two people are his elderly retired grandfather and scrawny-ass kid brother.

Claire hands Sean a glass of water, which he gratefully accepts, and downs the entire thing in two gulps. “When you boys are finished up here, dinner is almost ready.”

“Thanks Claire,” Sean says. He hands her back the empty glass and returns his attention to the conglomerate of furniture sitting in the hallway.

Stephen said they didn’t have to take everything out, just enough so they could easily get at the walls, but Sean wanted the extra room for while they were stripping the walls. They just finished taking down the wallpaper on the two longer walls (and yes, Sean was right; the smell  _ was _ coming from some mold and mildew festering underneath the wallpaper, which they promptly cleaned to the best of their ability), so all they have to do now is strip of the remaining walls, which shouldn’t be too difficult, since they’re not as wide as the other two, and then sand and paint the walls. Which might end up being a Sunday-After-Church job, since Sean doesn’t think Stephen can take much more of the manual labor, and Daniel is getting annoyingly uncooperative.

And...shit. Everything is blocking the bathroom and the door to Claire and Stephen’s room, which means they’ll have to put everything back tonight, which means they’ll just have to clear everything out  _ again _ tomorrow afternoon. Maybe he and Daniel can use the time alone while Claire and Stephen are at church to do some power-training and have him help take stuff out of the room.

Sean has been helping Daniel practice his powers every night since he discovered them last week. Before they go to bed, once Claire and Stephen are asleep, Daniel will use his powers to move things in their room. They started simple—a soda can, one of Daniel’s toy blocks, a t-shirt—but last night they moved on to slightly bigger objects. Daniel’s improving alarmingly fast. He still seems to be having trouble moving anything larger than the nightstand next to their bed, but even that’s impressive after a week of training.

So maybe it’s time to move onto the next step—like furniture.

Okay, really Sean just doesn’t want to move all that shit again. But yeah, training Daniel’s powers, that’s the real reason.

After dinner, Sean and Stephen spend a little bit of time stripping the wallpaper off the remaining two walls, but stop just short of finishing as Stephen gets too tired to go on, so Sean and Daniel haul everything back into the room for the night. Man, that shouldn’t be as exhausting as it is. It’s not like they’re moving it up or downstairs or anything, just in and out of the hallway. It’s just that there’s so  _ much _ of it, and since they wanted to spend more time stripping the walls, they decided not to waste time moving some of the furniture Sean doesn’t want out to the curb for garbage day.

Which is fine, that should be easier with Daniel’s powers tomorrow anyhow.

It’s only about 8:30, but Sean is a sweaty, sweaty boy, so he hops in the shower and changes into sweatpants for the night. He’s just about to head downstairs to chill out with some TV when Daniel stops him.

“Hey Sean?” he says, poking his head out of their room. “Could you...could you do something for me?”

“Uhh, sure. What’s up,  _ enano _ ?”

“I know Grandma said I can’t use the PlayBox, but I’m really worried about Noah. It’s been two weeks already and I haven’t been able to talk to him. Do you think...could you log into my Minecraft account and tell him I’m okay?”

“Man, you’re really worked up about this, huh?”

“Of course I am!” Daniel pouts. “He’s my best friend and I don’t get to see him anymore and I don’t want to lose him because of a stupid mistake.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll send him a message. You might need to walk me through it, though.”

Daniel gives him a brief explanation of how to sign into his account on the PlayBox, and Sean boots it up to give it a go. It’s been a while since he’s played anything on this thing. The most recent game he played was  _ The Last of Us _ , and that was a good couple months ago at least. 

He got the remastered port for Christmas last year, but it took him a while to actually get good at the game. And then, once he finally had it down, Daniel caught him playing and wanted to watch, so he had to start the whole game over again just so he wouldn’t be confused. Dad got so pissed when he found out Sean had let him watch, because the kid had nightmares for weeks. But even still, Daniel would beg Sean to let him watch, and Sean honestly had fun discussing the plot with him, so he agreed. But that meant he could only play when Dad wasn’t around.

Come to think of it, he never did end up finishing that game, did he?

Sean signs into Daniel’s profile and starts up Minecraft. He has no idea how to play this game whatsoever, so when it starts up, he wanders aimlessly for a minute before figuring out how to open the menu. A notification appears in the top right of the screen:  _ NoahGuy667 is online. _

Immediately after that notification fades, another one pops up. It’s a message from NoahGuy.  _ Dude where u been? _

Sean fumbles with the controls while he tries to figure out how to open the message. He’s not used to actually sending messages on the PlayBox. Whenever he and his friends would play  _ Call of Duty _ or  _ Halo _ they would just use voice chat. But Sean assumes Noah doesn’t have voice chat enabled due to parental blocks or something, because when he finally figures out how to open the menu, he accidentally hits the button to start a voice call but it’s denied.

_ My mic is busted :( _

Sean hits reply and does his best to type a message with the on-screen keyboard. It takes fucking forever but he finally gets it typed out:

_ Hey sry. This is dans bro sean. Dans grounded so no pb 4 a month :( he wantd me 2  _ (Jesus Fucking Christ this is taking forever to type)  _ tell u so u dnt thnk he h8s u lol _

_ Dang thats lame :/,  _ Noah replies.  _ But ofc i dont hate him :) i ws just worried u kno? _

Then a few seconds later:  _ lol rip i red that rong im glad he dosent hate me _

_ He’ll b happy 2 hear that _

_ R u guys ok? Sry abt ur dad :( _

This is the weirdest conversation he has ever had with a ten year old.

_ Yeah, we gud. Adjusting _

_ Dose he hav a new bff? :( _

_ Lol na dude he was so woried abt u _

_ Thats good,  _ Noah sends. Then another message pops up and he adds,  _ not that he was woried. I just miss him _

Correction: This is the  _ cutest _ conversation he has ever had with a ten year old.

_ He misses u 2, _ Sean sends.  _ I gtg but ill tell him u say hi lol _

_ Ok! Bi sean _

_ L8rs _

Geez that was exhausting. Sean could have written an entire novel in the time it took to type out those abbreviated sentences. But it was sweet how much Noah cares about Daniel. It reminds him of how he and Lyla are. Which also reminds him; he hasn’t texted her in a few days—busy with school and homework and getting the room ready for renovation. He should text her.

Sean signs out of the PlayBox account and powers it down. He whips out his phone to shoot Lyla a message as he walks upstairs to tell Daniel what Noah said, when he sees she’s already texted him.

_ Dude. Had another protest today. Your dad would be proud. We got so many people to show up. _

Ugh. Now he remembers why he really didn’t text Lyla the last few days. She was getting ready for the protest and it was all she could talk about.

Sean doesn’t want to sound ungrateful. What Lyla’s doing is incredibly courageous and noble and making a real impact on the world, and he’s proud of her for doing something he doesn’t have the heart to do. But man, can they talk about something else every once in a while? He’s glad the protests are going so well, but every time she mentions them it’s just another nail driving into his bleeding heart, reminding him of his dad.

_ Thats cool _ , he sends back. _ U still coming over next weekend? _

She doesn’t reply immediately, so Sean stuffs his phone back into his pocket and knocks on the bedroom door, which is closed for some reason.

“J-just a second!” Daniel calls from inside.

Does Sean even  _ want  _ to know? “I messaged Noah,” he says cautiously.

Seconds later, Daniel opens the door—fully dressed, thank God. “You should have said it was you. I thought you were Grandma.”

Sean looks past his brother at the mess of building blocks all over the floor and the desk. Some of them are splintered into pieces.

“Dude,” Sean says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “What did you do?”

“I was just practicing!” Daniel says. “I wanted to get better at moving small things really well so we can move on to big things.”

“Then why are you missing half your blocks now?”

“They sorta...blew up.”

“They  _ blew up? _ ”

“It was an accident! I swear!”

Sean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Daniel...Look, I’m happy that you want to practice, but your powers aren’t...they’re not like a toy, or a game. They’re dangerous,  _ enano _ . You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“That’s why I was practicing, though,” Daniel says. “I  _ know _ they’re dangerous, Sean. That’s why I wanna get better at them. So I can use them to keep people safe.”

“You’re not a superhero, Daniel,” Sean says. He kneels down to meet Daniel’s eyes. “You’re nine. Even Peter Parker didn’t become Spider-Man until he was closer to my age.”

“That’s so unfair,” Daniel pouts. “I have this power, don’t I have a responsibility?”

“Yeah,  _ enano _ , you do. And I know you’re gonna do great things with your power. But you can’t do anything if you’re dead. You hear me?”

“I hear you…”

“Good.” Sean straightens himself back up and rustles Daniel’s hair. “But if you want to practice on bigger things, I was thinking… We need to move all that furniture out again tomorrow so Stephen and I can paint, and I really need to get that bed out to the curb. So, while Claire and Stephen are at church tomorrow morning…”

Daniel scoffs. “You just want me to help you move your furniture. You lazy bum.” He rolls his eyes at Sean, but he’s smiling. “But I can use my powers on them? Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Sean laughs. “Just...try not to explode them. I don’t know  _ how _ we would explain that to Claire.”

Sean helps Daniel clean up the shards of toy blocks that are scattered across the room, and then he heads back downstairs to get a proper start at relaxing. At least, he would, but he rounds the corner to see Stephen hogging the TV. He’s watching some old black & white show on TV Land. Damn, so that means no PlayBox and no TV for him tonight. That’s fine, though. Maybe he should get a head start on that book he’s supposed to read for English.

Ugh. He would literally rather do anything else. So, in the end, he sits down next to Stephen and watches the show with him.

“What are you watching?” he asks.

“Oh this is a classic, Sean. It’s called  _ M*A*S*H _ . I used to watch this show with your mother when she was growing up. The finale was one of the most watched programs in history!”

“That’s cool,” Sean says. He doesn’t really care, but Stephen likes to ramble about his past—as all good grandpas do—so Sean listens to him talk, laughs when it seems he’s making a joke, and just smiles at the old man’s look of pure joy as he recounts his experience watching the finale with Claire and Karen.

Eventually Stephen tires himself out, and they just watch the rest of the episode. Sean can’t claim to have any semblance of an idea what’s going on in it, but he finds himself entranced anyway. There’s something oddly calming about old TV shows like this. The actors’ manner of speaking, the shot composition, the muted colors that make everything look like a drawing in his sketchbook, it fills Sean with a nostalgia for a time he was never even alive to experience. 

And he wonders, briefly, if it’s Dad’s nostalgia he’s feeling. Did he ever watch this show? He must have watched something like it. They probably had  _ telenovelas _ that looked a lot like this back in the day. 

It’s not an unknown fact that Sean doesn’t believe in God. And with that disbelief comes a skepticism of what comes after death. Sean doesn’t believe in heaven and hell, at least not the way Christians do, but he likes to think there’s something after. Maybe it’s just a comfort thinking that Dad is out there, watching over him somehow. Or even just that he’s happy in his new life. That he didn’t just die, brutally and violently, and cease to exist.

Death doesn’t scare Sean. What scares him is not knowing what comes after. What scares him is the thought that Dad, in every way, shape, and form, is gone. Because if that’s true...then it’s just one more cruel joke that the world has decided to play on him.

After the episode, Stephen gets too tired to watch any more, so he gives Sean the remote and heads upstairs for bed. It’s only 9:30, so Sean monopolizes the couch and flips through the channels, eventually landing on one playing one of the  _ Terminator _ movies.

Arnie is just about to say that iconic line, “Come with me if you want to live,” when Sean’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and smiles when he sees it’s a text from Lyla. But the smile immediately fades when he reads the message.

_ Sorry dude, I got asked to cover a shift. Really need the hours. I’ll try and come down to see you sometime next month. <3 Love you lots. _

Whatever. Sean nearly throws his phone to the other side of the couch. Fuck.

He tries to pay attention to the movie, but the action and explosions aren’t distracting him the way he would like. It’s just...he was really looking forward to seeing Lyla again. It’s only been two weeks since the funeral, but he already misses her like hell. It feels like a lifetime since they hugged good-bye before leaving with the social worker.

God, dude, do  _ not _ start crying right now. Sean has been doing way too much fucking crying lately and he’s sick of it. He wipes his eyes and squeezes them shut, like he can hold in the tears like a dam. He feels so  _ stupid _ crying over something like this. It’s not like she totally ghosted him or something. She needs the money, that’s something Sean can respect. But damn...Sean really needs  _ her _ right now. He needs somebody besides his old, conservative grandparents and his snot-nosed kit brother to talk to.

What Sean really needs right now is a  _ friend. _

_ Sure _ , he responds.  _ I understand. Love you too. _

_ Good, _ she replies almost immediately.  _ I’m so so sorry, again. I miss you so much, dude. _

Sean can’t even bring himself to respond.


	9. Chapter 9

“Alright, now lift it—gently! Don’t try and do too much at once. If you try and force it you’re just gonna blow it up like you did with the building blocks. There we go. Good. _Good_ , Daniel.”

Sean is legit surprised at how well this “training” session is going. As soon as Claire and Stephen left for church, Sean had Daniel start off by just pushing some of the furniture around, to get used to how it felt. Then, after about twenty minutes of that, Daniel said he felt comfortable enough to try lifting one. They started with the bed, and Daniel was able to lift it a good four inches off the ground before letting go.

Church is only an hour, but Claire and Stephen always go out for lunch with some of their church friends after, so Sean figures they have until about 12:30. It’s just past 10:00 now, so they have some time. Daniel has moved on to levitating the bed and moving it, which is like, holy shit impressive. When the kid wants to help out, he really helps out.

Daniel lets go of the bed and stops to catch his breath. Sean hands him the water bottle he brought up for him, and Daniel takes it and chugs the rest of it. This must really take a lot out of him.

“You wanna take a break?” Sean asks.

Daniel, still huffing and balancing himself against the doorframe, shakes his head. “No,” he gasps. “I can do this.”

“Dude, don’t push yourself,” Sean says. “Remember what I said about not being able to help anybody if you’re dead.”

“I know, I know. I just...I wanna get better.”

“You _are_ getting better.”

“I wanna get better _faster_.”

“Dude, come on.” Sean takes one final swig of his own water bottle, then hands it over to Daniel, who desperately needs the hydration. “You know the story of the Tortoise and the Hare. Dad told it to us a billion times. _Slow and steady wins the race._ ”

Daniel downs the rest of Sean’s water, and floats both of them into the trash can outside the room.

“Nice,” Sean comments.

“Thanks.” Daniel grins at him. “I think I’m ready to keep going!”

“Nope.” Sean shakes his head. “Uh-uh. We’re taking a break. Sit.” He points towards the floor, and both of them sit down criss-cross applesauce. Daniel leans his back against the closet door, his breathing still uneven.

“Sean?” Daniel says after a minute.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“What do you think Dad would think of my powers?”

The question strikes him, not only because it comes out of nowhere, but because it’s not something Sean had even thought about before. The powers didn’t come about until Dad died, so it never occurred to him to even relate the two beyond “Dad’s death may have caused Daniel’s powers somehow.”

“I think,” Sean starts. “I think he’d be proud of you, _enano_ , for wanting to help people.”

“Do you think…” Daniel hesitates. “Would he have...wanted me to use my powers to save him? Like if they had come out sooner, if I had them when...would I have been able to save him?”

“I...don’t know,” Sean says. “Would he have wanted you to save him, even if it meant...hurting that police officer? I honestly can’t say for sure either way. Dad was sort of a ‘do no harm’ kinda guy, but I don’t think—”

“Sean, did I…? Did I hurt that officer? Is he dead because of me?”

Shit. So he finally put it together. Well, Sean didn’t really help things by mentioning him. But, well, it had to come out sooner or later. They might as well talk about it.

“Daniel,” Sean starts. “You didn’t mean to. You were just angry, and—and scared. And you didn’t have control over it like you do now. It’s not your fault.”

Daniel leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “I thought so.” Sean sees a swell in Daniel’s chest, and it’s one he recognizes well. He scoots over to him and wraps his arms around his brother’s shoulders. Daniel cries into Sean’s chest. “I didn’t...I k-k...I—”

“It’s okay, _enano_ ,” Sean says, stroking Daniel’s hair.

“It’s not okay, Sean!” Daniel sobs. “I... _killed_ somebody.”

“It was self-defense, dude. You ran on instincts. Don’t blame yourself.”

Daniel shrugs, and uncrosses his legs to bring his knees up to his chest. He hugs his legs and hides his head. “Are they gonna come looking for me?” he asks.

“Huh? Who?”

“You know,” he says, lifting his head. “The police. Are they gonna take me away for killing that cop?”

“I don’t think so,” Sean says. “They have no reason to suspect that a nine-year old kid...did _that._ And if they did, they would have come for you already. I think as long as you keep your powers a secret, you should be safe.”

“But Chris knows, and it’s fine!”

“That’s one person, dude. The fewer people that know, the easier it is to keep it contained.”

Daniel shrugs, and goes back to hiding his face in his knees. Sean tries to soothe him by rubbing his back, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much. They sit there like that for a minute, not really saying anything, but Daniel’s not crying anymore, so Sean takes that as a good thing.

“C’mon,” he says, patting Daniel on the knee and getting up. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”

Sean has Daniel use his powers on the bed again, but rather than lifting it all by himself, Sean helps this time. The bed feels so much lighter than it did yesterday when they were moving it, and with the two of them, they’re able to move it out into the hall relatively easily before Daniel gets too winded.

“Dude!” Sean says, giving his brother a high-five. “That was epic! See, you can do more than just move things and blow shit up with your powers! A little practice and you’ll be out helping people in no time.”

Sean doesn’t believe this, and he’s pretty sure Daniel knows he doesn’t fully believe it, but he still smiles at the thought. He’s such a good kid, always wanting to help people. It’s something Sean admires about him. Sean, at this point in his life, doesn’t have the fucking energy to want to help people. 

He’s not apathetic, not by any stretch of the imagination. Sean was always the most empathetic one in his friend group back in Seattle, and he was known to call bullies out when he caught them picking on people. But here, now? He’s just overwhelmed by everything weighing him down. His dad’s dead, he’s gotta get used to a whole new school, new town, new home, new family...And to top it all off, his brother thinks he’s a superhero. So Sean’s just got a little too much on his plate right now to worry about other people.

Then he thinks of Lyla, who’s doing so much good by being involved in these protests. She’s hurting, too, but she’s still getting out there and making the most of her life. Meanwhile, Sean’s just...defeated. He roams the halls of his school in a daze, going through the motions until he can come back home—if he can even call it home—and numb his brain with music, drawing, and video games. And it just makes him feel pathetic. 

It takes them a while, but using this technique, they manage to get the bed downstairs and out the door with relative ease. Sean makes Daniel stop using his powers to lift it once they get outside, but Daniel—the little prodigy—figures out a way to spread his powers out around the bed frame, so that the bed itself is lighter, but with the two of them on either end, it looks like they’re carrying it normally.

“Damn, dude,” Sean says. “I’m impressed.” Daniel grins up at him.

After another short break, they get back to it. Daniel seems to be figuring out how his powers work and the best ways to use them, even without Sean’s help. Which makes sense, they’re _his_ powers, not Sean’s. By the time Claire and Stephen come home from church, they’ve all but cleared the room out entirely, and there’s a pile of Karen’s old junk out by the trash.

“Well,” Claire says as she and Stephen enter the living room to see Sean and Daniel chilling on the couch. “You boys certainly have been busy.”

“Yeah!” Daniel says, jumping up and running over to give Claire a hug. “We cleared out the whole room! Do you think I can help you guys paint?”

Either Daniel has already forgotten about the conversation they had sitting on the floor of Sean’s soon-to-be new bedroom, or he’s really good at pretending he did. Stephen agrees to let him help, and after a quick lunch of toasted egg sandwiches (which are surprisingly tasty?), they all head upstairs and get to work, and by dinnertime at 6, the entire upstairs reeks of wet paint.

“Next weekend, we can go and pick out some new furniture for your room,” Stephen says, nudging Sean in the arm and getting paint all over his shirt. 

It’s a good thing he didn’t decide to wear his Wolf Squad hoodie while painting, because Sean is completely covered in paint splotches. Some from getting a bit on his fingers and forgetting when going to wipe his brow or scratch his nose, and some from Daniel “jokingly” flicking his paintbrush at him. Sean almost flicked his back, but then Daniel lifted up the paint can with his powers while Stephen’s back was turned, and Sean knew he meant business. It was best not to mess with him.

“Ooh! Can I come?” Daniel asks.

“Why do you need to come?” Sean says. “You’re not getting new furniture.”

“Aw no fair! How come Sean gets new furniture but I don’t?”

“Dude, what kind of furniture do you even need? Our room is fully furnished.”

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna be leaving, I don’t want that huge bed all to myself. I’ll get lonely.”

Sean concedes. “Okay, fair. Maybe we should have given _you_ Mom’s old bed.”

“Sean, that thing was over 25 years old,” Stephen says. “She’s had it since she was a teenager. Believe me, it was time to throw it out.”

Just one more week, Sean tells himself. One more week of sharing a bed with Daniel. One more week until he gets his own room, his own bed, his own space. Finally, he can feel like he actually belongs.

At least, he hopes.

# # #

Sometimes, Sean will wake up to Daniel screaming in the middle of the night, crying out for Dad, and Sean has to wake him up and hold him until he calms down. That’s one of the things he’ll be nervous about after moving into his new room. Will Daniel be okay? Sean waited so long to have his own space again, and now that it’s becoming a reality, he’s having second thoughts.

No, Sean knows this is the right step for him. He needs a space to call his own, where he can let the mask drop and just be Sean. No longer will he always have to be the doting older brother, or the Dead Dad Kid, or the sad, tragic orphan grandchild of Claire and Stephen Reynolds. Once Sean gets that room set up, he has a place for himself, a place where he doesn’t have to pretend to be okay for anybody else’s sake.

A place where he can just exist without judgment or fear of persecution.

But still, these are the things going through Sean’s mind on Wednesday night when, once again, he’s rustled from sleep by the violent and desperate cries of his younger brother next to him.

“Hey. Hey, Daniel. It’s okay.” Sean jostles Daniel gently until his eyes snap open. His breathing is jagged and hurried, and immediately upon recognizing where he is, he buries his face in Sean’s chest. “Was it the same dream again?” Sean asks.

Daniel nods.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay. Then let’s try and get back to sleep.” Sean lays back down, glancing over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 4:28. Perfect, if he falls asleep now, he can get another two hours of sleep before needing to get up for school. Daniel curls up next to him, and Sean pulls him close.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel mumbles.

“For what?”

“Waking you up. I bet you’re glad you no longer have to share a room with me.”

“Dude, come on.”

“What?”

“You know I want to be here for you. I just...I need my own space, y’know? Aren’t you gonna enjoy having your own room again?”

“I guess,” Daniel says. “I just liked spending all this time with you.”

Sean laughs. “I’m right down the hall, _enano_.”

“I know, but it’s not the same.”

“Tell ya what,” Sean says. “Once I move into the new room, maybe we can have sleepovers every once in a while. We’ll stay up late watching movies and playing video games and then some times you can sleep in my room, and other times I’ll sleep in yours. It’ll be like when Noah used to stay over.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Sean almost thinks he fell asleep, until he shifts a bit in bed, looks over his shoulder at Sean, and says, “I’d like that, Sean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was kinda short, sorry D: The next one is a little beeifer, so hopefully that'll make up for it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** This chapter contains brief use of homophobic slurs and language.

Ugh. It’s that Madelyn girl again, the one who made that homophobic comment about the dude Sean ran into in the bathroom (which makes that whole situation sound a whole lot weirder than it actually was). Why is she coming over to him again? Did he not make it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want to sit with her and her archaic friends?

“Hey Sean,” she says, sitting down at the table Sean was, until recently, peacefully drawing at. “You want to sit with us?” She gestures towards one of the tables across the commons, where that jock dude and their other friends are sitting, laughing and flinging food at each other.

Sean looks at her skeptically, gives her a good obvious once-over, and then returns to his sketchbook. “I’m good.”

Madelyn frowns. “I always see you sitting alone at lunch. I just wanted to offer, since you always look so lonely.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Okay, that’s a total fucking lie. Sean’s never been lonelier in his life, when he’s at school here. He doesn’t know anybody, and the only people that seem to actually want to make an effort to get to know him are people like Madelyn, who aren’t really the kind of people Sean wants to make friends with anyway.

But either way, he’d still rather just sit alone and finish his drawing.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like Madelyn is going to leave him alone. She catches sight of his sketchbook and leans over to get a glimpse of it. “Dude, did you draw that?”

“Uhh, yeah?” Does she not see the pencil literally millimeters away from the paper?

“That’s really good. You should take art next semester, you’d ace it with flying colors.”

“I’m more of a sketch artist than a color artist,” Sean says dumbly. But Madelyn laughs.

“Well, I still say you should take it. I think you’d do really well in it.”

“Thanks,” Sean says.

Madelyn looks back over at her table, where the jock is eyeing her like a dog about to stray too far off its leash. “Well, I should get back there. Um…” She gets up and pushes in her chair, but lingers for a second. “The offer’s always open, if you ever want to come sit with us.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, well...See ya.”

She leaves, _finally_ , and Sean goes back to his drawing. He was working on a sketch of what he wants his new room to look like, once they get all the furniture for it. He’s thinking he’ll put the bed where Karen’s used to be, but have the desk on the other side of the room. Then, he can put the dresser up next to it for a little extra surface space, so he can move his laptop over when he wants to use the desk for drawing. Then he’ll keep the bookshelf, chair and floor lamp in the same position as they used to be, and make a nice little reading cove for when he finally works up the energy to get back into _Chronicles of the Basilisk._ Then he can hang up a couple posters and— 

“Watch where you’re going, faggot!”

Sean perks up. That _word_ puts him on high alert. It’s been awhile since he’s heard somebody use it—last time was some douchebag in the eighth grade who said it to Ellery after he came out, and Sean promptly got suspended for beating him up—but it still sends a shiver up his spine whenever he does. The word itself always oozes with malice, and even if it’s not directed at Sean, it still fills him with dread.

He looks around the commons for where the commotion is, but he doesn’t have to look far; he recognizes the voice as that of the jock that hangs out with Madelyn. And sure enough, he’s standing over that dude Kent, the one Madelyn called gay, like it was a bad thing. The poor kid is cowering in fear, surrounded by his spilled lunch tray, as this massive, hulking behemoth stands over him, like a lion approaching a house cat.

But Sean just returns to his drawing. It’s better not to get involved. With Ellery, it was different. Ellery is his oldest friend, so of course he was going to stand up for him. But he barely knows Kent, so why should he bother helping him?

Well, Kent _was_ the only person who was actually nice to him, genuine in a way that people like Madelyn just can’t be.

He looks back over them over the top of his sketchbook.

“I’m sorry,” Kent whimpers. “I didn’t—”

“Just look out when you’re walking. I don’t want to catch your _gay_.”

God, this dude is really pushing it. What did that kid even do to deserve shit like this? Sean...should go over there and help him, shouldn’t he? That would be the right thing to do.

All this reminds him of that day back in eighth grade, when Sean got suspended for punching Brenton Tyler. That was the douchebag that insulted Ellery. 

Sean had never been suspended before, and so as he sat in the office, next to Brent holding an ice pack to his cheek and waiting for Dad to come and pick him up, he’d actually started shaking. It didn’t help that when Dad showed up, he wordlessly escorted Sean out to the car. Sean was sure he was about to get an earful, but Dad turned to him, leaned against the back of his car and said, “What did he do?” Sean didn’t respond, so he said, “I know that no son of mine would get into a fight like that without a very good reason. So, what did he do?”

That night, Dad took both him and Daniel out for ice cream, and he said, “I’m proud of you, _hijo,_ for standing up for your friend. But you both need to know that violence is never the answer. People like us, we don’t get to be violent, because if we’re violent, we’re seen as a threat. So it is very important to me that you two stay out of trouble, okay?”

Sean and Daniel both agreed, though they were both too little to really understand what it meant. Too bad staying out of trouble didn’t help Dad in the end…

This memory floods back to him, and it forces a question into his mind, a question that’s been popping up a lot recently. _Would Dad be proud of me?_ Sean stood up for his friend back in middle school, and Dad was proud. And now, he’s just sitting by and watching the same kind of situation play out in front of him. Would Dad be proud of him? Sean already knows the answer.

But...no, fuck that. Like he said, he doesn’t even know Kent. Sean is enough of a pariah at this school without also making a commotion by confronting a bully.

Still, there’s something about this dude—Kevin, if memory serves—that reminds him of Brett Foster. They both have that vibe of a smug, privileged, upper-middle class white boy who thinks giving tax cuts to the wealthy elite is good for the economy.

“Y-you can’t...it’s not…” Kent is frantically picking up what he can salvage from his lunch off the ground—a pitiful display, really—and stammering. Sean can hear the lump in his throat.

Kevin laughs, spits a few more homophobic slurs at him. Madelyn watches him, caught in the bystander effect. He can practically hear her thinking, _Wow, somebody should do something about this. Not me, but somebody._

Fuck it. Guess that somebody is Sean. He can’t just stand idly by and watch the one person at the school who actually seems decent get bullied like this. He slams his sketchbook closed and stuffs it into his backpack, before trudging over to them.

“Hey!” he shouts, trying really hard to hide his voice cracking. “Leave him alone.”

Kevin looks over at Sean with mild confusion. “What? Me? You’re gonna defend this _queer_?”

Sean scoffs. “Really, dude? It’s 2016. Nobody’s used ‘queer’ as an insult since, like, the nineties.”

Kent watches Sean with a glint in his eyes, like this is the first time anybody’s ever stood up for him. Which just makes Sean sad.

“Oh, are you queer too then?” Kevin sneers. “Are you coming to protect your _boyfriend_?”

“So what if I am?” Jesus, what is he saying? Sean’s heart drops at his own words. No time to dwell on it now. He locks arms with Kent and helps him to his feet. “Come on, uh... _sweetie_ , let’s get out of here.”

“Wh-what? Um, okay?” Kent says, confusedly looking back at the jock as Sean drags him away and back to his table.

Sean feels all eyes on him as he and Kent walk away, and he can’t help but feel he made a grave mistake.

So now the entire school thinks he’s gay. Cool. That’s just cool. Good luck getting a date for prom now.

As they sit down, Kent looks up at Sean with wide eyes. “Thank you,” is all he appears able to manage.

“Don’t sweat it,” Sean says, trying to appear calm, despite the fact that he’s kinda freaking out right now. “I can’t stand bullies.”

Kent doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so an uncomfortable silence falls between them. Sean continues nibbling on some undercooked french fries, and he would consider getting his sketchbook back out, but that would be rude to Kent. Not that they’re really having much of a conversation anyway.

“Can I...can I have some of those?” Kent asks, pointing to the fries.

“Shit. Yeah, dude, go for it,” Sean says, pushing his tray to Kent’s side of the table. Kent hungrily starts shoving fries in his mouth. “Do you want me to buy you another lunch or something? There’s no way that’s gonna be enough food for you.”

“Oh, no, no,” Kent says upon swallowing a bite of fry. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve already done so much for me today.”

“No I didn’t,” Sean says. “I just did what anybody would do.” Except _anybody_ didn’t. Sean did. And what seems to be the entirety of the upperclass student body saw him do it. “And you need food, so come on.”

Kent starts to protest, but relents when Sean gets up and starts walking over to the lunch line. He picks out a tray of food, and Sean goes to pay the lunch lady.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Kent says, giving her the money before Sean can.

“Are you sure dude? It’s not fair for you to have to pay for lunch twice.”

Kent shrugs. “It’s not fair to you either.”

They sit back down at their table, and Sean can still feel the school’s watchful eyes on them.

“Um.” Kent takes a bite of his burger, and wipes his mouth off with a napkin. “I just...I have to ask. What you said back there...are you really…?”

He trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish that thought for Sean to know exactly where he’s going with that. Heat rushes to Sean’s cheeks. “N-no, sorry,” he says. “I don’t...I don’t really swing that way.”

“Oh.” Kent sounds disappointed. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Sean laughs. “No, it’s okay. I mean, I did straight up call you ‘sweetie.’”

“Haha. True.”

Kent goes back to eating his lunch, and Sean decides to pull out his sketchbook anyway. He goes back to shading the dresser in his drawing, and is almost done filling out the room when the lunch bell rings.

“You’re in Mr. Peterson’s for sixth period, right?” Kent asks.

Initially, this strikes Sean as kind of creepy. How does he know his schedule? But then he vaguely remembers seeing Kent in his class after lunch, and it makes a lot more sense. “Yeah. You...wanna walk there together?”

His face lights up. “Sure.”

Maybe this is social suicide, walking aound his conservative high school with the student body’s resident gay kid, but it’s not like his social life wasn’t completely ruined from day one anyway. Is being “the gay kid’s friend” any worse than being “the dead dad kid?” Besides, Sean doesn’t care what other people think.

At least, he tries not to.

Kent seems to be ignoring the snickers and whispers of the other students they pass in the hallway. Meanwhile, Sean just retreats further into himself. “Does this happen to you a lot?”

Cheeks flushing, Kent nods. “Yeah. I came out near the end of freshman year, so I’ve been dealing with almost two years of this.”

“That blows, man,” Sean says. “I’m sorry you gotta put up with it.”

“It’s alright,” Kent says, shrugging. “I’m used to it. Thanks again for...for stepping in. For saying what you did.”

“Of course, dude. I wasn’t just gonna sit back and watch the only guy who’s been nice to me since I got here get picked on like that.” Except that he was going to, at first. He doesn’t say that, though. “I told you. I don’t like bullies.”

Sean thinks back to Brett Foster, and how he’d been picking on Daniel the day... _that_ day. Sean already didn’t like Brett, but bullying his little brother was the final straw. He still can’t believe Brett was actually about to hit a fucking kid.

“Still,” Kent says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Like, walking to class with me, it’s...I can understand if you want to...avoid me from now on.”

“Why would I do that?” Sean says. “I don’t...I don’t care if people think I’m gay, dude.” At least, he hopes he doesn’t. He’ll try not to. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, I know who I am. I know who I like. Words can’t hurt me if they aren’t true.”

Kent laughs weakly. “Yeah, if only that were the case.”

# # #

Okay, if Kent weren’t like, actually kind of cool, Sean would be almost certain that he was stalking him. But no, it just turns out that they take the same bus (which isn’t that much of a surprise; there’s only like 5 or 6 of them for a school this size), so when they run into each other heading out the doors, Kent asks if Sean wants to sit with him, and Sean already made himself a social reject by standing up for him, so really, what more is there to lose?

People snicker at them as they walk by, but Sean does his best to ignore them. He sits in the aisle seat, with Kent closer to the window, creating a sort of defensive barrier around him. Why Sean feels so protective of this kid, he’s not sure. Maybe Sean just has a thing for standing up for those less fortunate than him.

Which, if he’s being honest, probably isn’t a lot of people.

“You doing anything cool for Thanksgiving this week?” Sean asks, trying to keep some kind of conversation going, so the awkward silence between them isn’t filled with the scattered laughter of their classmates.

“Not really,” Kent says, looking down. “My dad died a couple years ago, so it’s just my mom and me. She’s not much of a cook, so we usually just order in and watch movies or something.”

“Shit, dude, I’m so sorry.” Sean doesn’t fail to recognize the irony in consoling somebody else about the death of their father.

“It’s cool,” Kent says. “I’m...we’re okay. It was a long time coming. He’d been sick for a few years, so we were more or less prepared for it. I can’t...I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”

Sean leans his head back against the hard, rough bus seat behind him. “Yeah. It sucks balls, dude. Wait.” He shoots upright. “Sorry, was that insensitive? I didn’t mean it like that.”

Kent laughs. “You’re good, man. But you know, sucking balls isn’t always a bad thing.” He winks, and Sean scratches behind his ear, feeling the heat flooding his face. Kent blushes and looks down. “Sorry. Heh, I’m...not good at this whole ‘friend’ thing.”

“Neither am I. At least, here I’m not. Back in Seattle, I had a bunch of friends, but most of them were people I’ve known for like, ever, so it was easy being friends with them. But I don’t know anybody here, and it’s...kinda lonely.”

“I know how you feel,” Kent sighs. “I’ve lived here my whole life and I’m still pretty lonely. I have a couple friends, of course, but most of the people I actually talk to are all online, people from forums and support groups and stuff that I met while I was...coming to terms with myself.”

“You probably get this a lot, but how long have you known you were gay?”

“Since forever, basically,” Kent says. “I was always a bit more drawn to boys than girls, but I didn’t really think anything of it, and then when I was in sixth grade our pastor gave a sermon about the ‘evils of homosexuality’ and I…” He trails off.

“That’s rough, dude. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it now. And my mom is actually really supportive.”

“That’s good.”

“But,” Kent starts. “I...never got to tell my dad...before he died.”

Sean doesn’t know how to respond to that. That’s an...uncomfortable situation, really kind of tragic. Kent’s dad died not really knowing this huge part of who his son was. Sean never really had that problem with his own dad. They shared pretty much everything. Maybe he never got a chance to tell him he had a crush on Jenn, but that clearly didn’t end up going anywhere anyway, so it doesn’t even matter. Sean even told him the truth about what he needed the money for that day.

Sean can’t even imagine the pain of living every day not knowing whether or not your dad would approve of you. Like, he _kind_ of gets it, because every time he makes any decision ever, his first thought is always, “Would Dad be proud of me for this?” But Sean knew his dad well enough to answer that for him most of the time. Yeah, Dad would be proud of him. He’s always been proud of him. But growing up in a conservative, Christian town, Sean can imagine Kent wonders if his dad would accept him. And that’s not something Sean really has to deal with.

It’s crazy how Kent’s grief is so similar to his own, and yet so incredibly different.

# # #

The house seems quiet when Sean arrives home. The door to Stephen’s study is closed, but Sean doesn’t hear any movement on the other side. Usually it’s super obvious if Stephen is in there working on his model trains, because he’ll be listening to an oldies station on a portable radio. That man really is stuck in the 70s, isn’t he?

He’s not upstairs with his trains, either. Sean definitely would be able to hear that. He can’t find Claire in the kitchen or the living room. He even checks the seldom-used basement and...nothing.

Huh. Where did they go?

Sean is about to just shrug it off and head upstairs when he stupidly notices a note taped to the back of the front door. Geez, how was he even supposed to notice that? It’s _behind_ him when he walks in.

_Boys,_

_Went to the grocery store to start picking up food for Thanksgiving. Will be back around 4. Please tidy up while we’re gone, and start a load of laundry._

_Love you,_

_Grandma and Grandpa_

Sean groans. Chores? Really? Whatever, it’s not like it’s that much. Sean goes ahead and throws some of his and Daniel’s clothes in the washing machine. He can make Daniel pick up his shit when he gets home from school. It’ll be good practice for his powers, too.

Yup, that’s definitely the only reason he’s not going to do that right now. No other reasons.

Sean is just about finished with his biology homework when Daniel gets home. For real, it is _so_ nice that Daniel gets to take the bus now, and that it drops him off right at the end of the street. No more being asked to walk Daniel home from school. Ironically, though, all that extra time he has is kind of useless since he doesn’t have any real friends here...Usually, if he got out of needing to walk Daniel home, he’d spend that extra time hanging out with Lyla at the skate park or getting _yakisoba_ from the Japanese restaurant Lyla likes.

Man, he really misses Lyla. He should text her tonight.

“Hey bro,” Sean says, as Daniel takes off his boots at the door and drops his bag off at the kitchen table. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Daniel says, opening the fridge and scouring it for a snack. His eyes land on a pudding cup, and he licks his lips as he pulls it out and grabs a spoon from the counter drawer. “Where are Grandma and Grandpa?”

“At the store,” Sean says. “Getting stuff for Thanksgiving.”

Daniel tears the foil off the top of the pudding cup and licks the bottom. “Awesome! I hope they get a turkey!” 

“Dude, it’s Thanksgiving. Of course they’re getting a turkey!”

“And mashed potatoes! I _love_ mashed potatoes. Do you think Grandma’s gonna bake a pie for dessert?”

“Oh my _God_ , dude. Stop!” Sean laughs. “You’re making me hungry.”

As if taunting Sean, Daniel eats a big spoonful of pudding, slowly pulling the spoon out of his mouth. What a dork.

“Hey, Claire wants you to pick up your toys and shit,” Sean says. Daniel groans. “Oh come on, don’t gimme that.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Daniel whines.

“Because I already did the laundry! Now, come on, dude.” Sean makes a show of looking around to make sure they’re alone. He leans over the table and whispers to Daniel in a singsong-y voice, “You can use your powers!”

Daniel’s face lights up. “Really?!”

“Yeah, dude. Just be quick about it. We don’t know when Claire and Stephen will be getting back.”

“I’ll be fast! Just you watch!”

Sean does not watch. He’s got better things to do, like this homework that makes him fall asleep just by looking at it. He’s almost done, though. Just a few more questions. He can hear objects whizzing around behind him as Daniel uses his powers to pick up his toys, put away books, and straighten out picture frames.

“Sean! Sean! Didja see? I’m already done!” Daniel calls out from behind him.

“Yeah, real cool, _enano_ ,” Sean says, not looking up from his textbook.

“You’re not even looking!”

“Yeah I am. I have eyes in the back of my head. Don’t you know?”

“What?! N-no way.”

Sean smiles to himself. Teasing Daniel like this is one of his favorite past times. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, that hasn’t changed.

Once Claire gets home, she ropes Sean and Daniel into helping bring in the groceries. Sean groans, but he’s done with his homework, so he doesn’t even have an excuse. He follows Daniel out the front door to the car and opens the back seat and— 

“Holy shit,” he says.

There’s gotta be like...a million bags in here. How did they all fit into the back of Claire’s dinky little car? Is Claire really going to use all of this for just the four of them? That’s when the thought occurs to Sean—it might not be just the four of them.

Dad was real big on “Friendsgiving.” Because most of Lyla’s extended family lives in South Korea, Sean’s family and hers would get together every year and invite some friends over. So having a large Thanksgiving dinner isn’t a new concept to Sean, it’s just…

He really doesn’t want to have to deal with _people_ this year. Like, Dad hasn’t even been dead a month. It’s not like he really has all that much to be thankful for in the first place.

They bring the bags into the kitchen and set them down on the counter. Claire immediately gets started putting things away, and asks the boys for help. Sean rolls his eyes. Yeah, that’s exactly what he wanted to do right now.

“Wowser!” Daniel gapes as Claire takes the turkey out of the bag and stuffs it in the fridge. “That turkey is _huge!_ Is that all for us, Grandma?”

“No, dear,” Claire laughs. “Even adding my two growing boys to the table, this would still have us eating leftovers for weeks! No, I usually invite the Eriksens over for Thanksgiving.”

Daniel’s face lights up. “You mean Chris is coming?! Awesome-possum.”

“Just the Eriksens, though, right?” Sean says, taking out some cans of pumpkin. “You’re not like...inviting the whole church or anything?”

Claire chuckles to herself as she puts some canned vegetables in the cupboard. “Gracious, no. I love to cook, but, and pardon my French, that would just be hell.”

Sean breathes a sigh of relief. Thank god. He doesn’t have to worry about dealing with other people. Other people and their questions, their morbid curiosity, their _pity._ Nah. Not this year. Maybe not ever. Maybe Sean can just go live in the mountains and become a hermit or something. At least the mountains won’t pity him.

He’s mostly kidding when he thinks that.

Mostly.

# # #

Since Dad died, Sean has tried to stay off of social media as much as possible. He made the mistake of checking his Facebook his first day at the Reynolds’, and his wall was just _filled_ with sympathy posts. Most of them from people Sean hasn’t spoken to in years, like Aunt Kathleen from Dad’s church. She’s not his actual aunt, obviously, but she insists that they call her that. She was there for Dad when Karen left, but a couple of years ago, she ended up moving to Kansas to be closer to her kids. This is the first Sean has heard from her since then.

Not only were there a lot of “sorry for your loss” posts, but a bunch of people Sean didn’t even know were commenting things like “stupid illegal got what was coming to him” and “I know what you did, copkiller.” They got reported fairly quickly, but Sean was unfortunate enough to catch a few glimpses of them before they disappeared, and it put him in kind of a bad place, mentally.

Sean privated his Facebook and Instagram accounts after that. Nobody can get onto his profile except the people he allows, and that isn’t very many people. Still, he tries to stay off it as much as he can, because he knows he’ll just end up going down a rabbit hole—going to Dad’s profile, lingering over the friend request he sent that Sean never accepted, scrolling down his wall looking at all the posts talking about how great of a man he was, and how much they miss him. Sean doesn’t know 90% of the people, and he’s pretty fucking sure they never knew Dad, either. At least not in the way that Sean knew him, in a way for them to know what kind of man he was, in a way that they can miss him even half as much as Sean does.

So yeah. Facebook is usually a no-go.

But occasionally he’ll get a notification on his phone that Lyla or Ellery or someone has tagged him in a post, and they’re usually silly memes that actually kind of brighten up Sean’s day, so he checks those. Today is one such day, and he follows the notification to an image Lyla shared of two wolves—one black, one white—with a caption that reads: “Inside you there are two wolves. One is gay. The other is gay. You are gay.”

 _Why am I tagged in this?_ Sean comments.

A few minutes later, Lyla responds with a smirking emoji. 

Especially after today, this one hits a little close to home. But he knows it’s just Lyla playing with him, so he just rolls his eyes.

But then, he notices on the sidebar, in the “People you may know” section, somebody he does indeed know.

_Kent Mathers._

Would it be weird to add him? Like, they did basically just become friends today. And is that even what they are? Friends? Does “standing up for someone and potentially getting labeled as gay by the whole school” count as a meet-cute? Like a friend meet-cute, because Sean’s not...yeah.

For a moment, Sean is worried about appearing like a creep by adding him out of the blue after talking with him for like, 10 minutes tops. But honestly? He and Kent seem to keep lining up somehow. They ran into each other on Sean’s first day, they have the same class after lunch, take the same bus home.

It’s almost like they’re destined to be friends or something.

So, fuck it. Sean hits the _Send Friend Request_ button, not thinking much else of it, and just before he’s called down for dinner, a notification pops up.

_Kent Mathers has accepted your friend request._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably one of my favorite chapters that I've written for this story, so far at least! There's just a bunch of little lines and sections that I'm super proud of. Hope you guys enjoyed!!
> 
> Edit log: I edited one line in this chapter to change a bit of Kent's backstory, changing it from him being in third grade when he realized he was gay, to sixth grade, which is a bit more realistic. (2/17/2021)


	11. Chapter 11

Sean actually spots Kent on the bus the next morning. How is that he’s been going to Beaver Creek High for two weeks, and he’s never noticed him before? He’s sitting in a seat near the back of the bus, where there are fewer people. There’s a few more stops after Sean’s, but Beaver Creek is small enough that the bus never really fills up to capacity. Still, Kent’s face lights up when he sees Sean, leaving Sean no choice but to sit with him.

Not like that’s a problem or anything. He was going to sit with him anyway.

“Hey man,” Sean says, sitting down next to him. Same setup as last time—Kent near the window, Sean in the aisle, like a human shield.

“Hey. How was your night?”

“It was fine. Yours?”

They make small talk for a while, and Sean’s not...totally opposed to it. He usually just plugs in his headphones and listens to music on the bus ride over, sometimes using it to catch a few extra minutes of sleep, but it’s nice to have somebody to talk to, even if it is just about the homework for Mr. Peterson’s class, or how much they’re looking forward to their half-day tomorrow.

“Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving?” Kent asks.

Sean shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I’m looking forward to the food, I guess. Claire is one hell of a cook, so I’m sure her Thanksgiving dinners are to fuckin’ die for. But…” He looks down.

“It’s the first one without your dad, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The firsts are always the worst,” Kent says. “My dad died just before my fourteenth birthday. My mom insisted we still go out to celebrate, but I wasn’t feeling it. She dragged me out anyway and I was miserable the whole time.”

“Ouch. That’s rough, man.”

“Then we had our first Christmas without him, and…” Kent stops himself and swallows what can only be a lump in his throat. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: it gets easier. It sucks at first. It sucks... _ so _ hard. But you get better at handling it. It never gets ‘better’ per se, just...easier to deal with. I don’t know if that makes you feel any better or—”

“It does,” Sean says. “A little bit.”

Maybe Sean doesn’t quite believe it yet, but it helps knowing that there’s somebody out there who’s been swimming up the same current as him. And it helps knowing that they haven’t drowned.

“So you said it’s just you and your mom for Thanksgiving, right?” Sean says.

“Yeah. Really looking forward to another night of Chinese takeout and watching Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time.” Kent pouts and rolls his eyes.

Sean laughs. “My dad used to make us watch Lord of the Rings every Christmas. And of course, it has to be—”

“The extended editions, right!” Kent is smiling now, which is good. Sean may not like to admit it, but he really enjoys making people smile. Especially Kent, who seems so sad all the time.

“And it’s like, I do like those movies, but I’ve seen them so many times already.”

“Same. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’ll take any opportunity to stare at Aragorn’s handsome mug, but man, if I have to hear Gollum’s raspy voice one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

Kent laughs, and Sean laughs along, because it just feels good to laugh with a friend. And...yeah, if last night’s friend requested didn’t confirm it, Sean does consider Kent a friend now. The way they just so easily slip into a conversation, it reminds him of Lyla.

“Say,” Sean starts. “Why don’t you and your mom come over to our place for Thanksgiving? Claire got this gigantic fucking turkey, but there’s only supposed to be six of us, and Daniel may have three stomachs, but I don’t think even he could finish it off.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You won’t! Claire invited our neighbors over, so I don’t see why I can’t invite a friend, too.”

This gets Kent smiling, gently, like he’s trying to hide it. “Well, I’ll ask my mom.”

“Awesome. Can’t wait.”

# # #

How is it already Thanksgiving break? It still feels like yesterday that he was preparing for that party with Lyla, the one where he was going to try and flirt with Jenn. Actually, it simultaneously feels like yesterday, and like thirty years ago. So go figure.

But still, it feels like Thanksgiving has come way too soon this year. The only reason Sean even remembered it was coming up is because he remembered the half-day they were having on Wednesday, and that he only had to deal with Beaver Creek High post-Outing for a day and a half. Now  _ there’s _ something to be thankful for.

He hasn’t told anybody about what happened, definitely not Claire and Stephen, but he doesn’t expect it to remain a secret for long, in a town like this. It would not be surprising if Claire came home on Sunday from church and confronted Sean about his newfound “homosexuality.”

God, that’s not a conversation he’s looking forward to.

He’s considered telling Lyla, but she’s been busy helping her mom prepare for Thanksgiving—their first without him. Her mom is pretty big into the whole Friendsgiving thing, too. She and Dad used to coordinate who would bring what, and they’d end up with this absolutely gigantic feast.

Dad used to get real into it, too. Even when Sean told him about how weird it is to celebrate the inevitable slaughter of millions of indigenous Americans, he still would go on about how it’s the  _ idea _ of gratitude and humility that’s the true meaning of Thanksgiving, and Sean would feel like he was living in an after-school Thanksgiving Day special.

So yeah, Sean’s not exactly the biggest fan of Thanksgiving. But, man, you just can’t beat Claire’s over-roasted turkey and hand-mashed potatoes. The entire day, Claire’s had to stop Sean from eating things before dinner. But they just smell so  _ good _ . The whole house is absolutely filled with the savory aroma of family dinner.

When Sean asked if he could invite a friend over for Thanksgiving—using Chris as an argument in his favor—Claire was overjoyed. “I’m happy to see you making friends at school, Sean,” she said. And it sounded like she wanted to add more, but she didn’t.

Daniel and Chris run around in the snow outside and Charles—as expected—is already breaking out the wine. Funny, Sean never thought of Charles as a wine drunk, but maybe it’s just because Thanksgiving is a classy occasion and drinking beer wouldn’t be  _ classy _ .

Sean doesn’t know what to think of Charles. He seems nice enough on the surface, but Claire has good reason to be suspicious of him. This is only their second or third time meeting, but Sean has already seen him snap at Chris more than once. It wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption that it sometimes goes farther than that.

But Sean can’t say any of this to his face, obviously, so he just tries to put up with him. Right now, he’s going on about his college basketball days and how he used to coach—all things that Sean has heard before, mind you, the last time Charles was over. He was drinking then, too. Sean nods along to the story, but isn’t really paying attention, instead typing at his phone and occasionally looking up to assure Charles he’s “still listening.” He doesn’t even seem to notice.

_ Happy Thanksgiving! _ he texts Lyla. 

It takes her a while to respond, but eventually she sends him,  _ Happy thanksgiving to you too, mi amigo. <3 How r u doing? _

_ Hanging in there, _ Sean says.  _ Stuck listening to our drunk neighbor prattle on about his glory days. _

_ Oof, that sucks. This the one you were telling me about? _

_ Yeah, the dad of Daniel’s friend Chris. He’s...a character. _

_ Wish you were here with us. Mom made bulgogi! _

_ Ugh, I wish I was there too. I fucking love bulgogi. Eat an extra helping for me. _

_ I will. Gtg, the Momster’s asking for help in the kitchen. Love you, Sean _

_ Love you too _

“Oh, sorry, am I boring you?” Charles says.

Sean looks up from his phone in a slight panic, expecting Charles to be irritated with him, but he’s smiling, likely meaning it as a joke. “Wh-what? Uh, no, I was just—”

“What’s her name?”

“Uh…Lyla? She’s my best friend, we’re not...”

Charles laughs and playfully punches Sean in the shoulder, but he’s kinda drunk, so he hits a bit harder than he probably intended. “Relax, kid. I’m messing with you. I know you don’t really want to hear the ramblings of an old fogie.”

“Aren’t you like, thirty? That’s not an old fogie at all.”

“Well, thanks for saying that, kid.” Charles looks off into the distance. He takes another drink of wine, and Sean’s just about had enough of it, so he heads into the kitchen to see if Claire needs any help.

# # #

Sean has now been eyeing that turkey for the past hour, and he swears it’s only gotten juicier-looking with every passing second. The skin is a delicious golden brown, with Claire’s homemade stuffing made with sourdough bread and a blend of fresh herbs. The mashed potatoes look buttery and smooth with a homemade beef gravy. Seriously, how did Claire find time to cook all of this? Even the macaroni and cheese is home-baked. Sure, she had a  _ little _ bit of help from Sean and Daniel, but most of it was all her.

And God, the  _ smells _ . Claire’s house has never smelled so good.

But Claire won’t let anybody eat until everyone gets here.

“Is your friend on his way, dear?” Claire asks.

“Not sure,” Sean says. He shoots him a quick text, asking if he’s still coming. He’s not trying to sound passive aggressive or anything, he’s just  _ really _ hungry. He skipped lunch to make sure he had room for the gigantic feast Claire spent the day tormenting him preparing.

Kent’s reply comes fairly quickly.  _ Sorry, we’re running behind. Mom burnt the green bean casserole she was bringing lol Go ahead and start without us. _

Oh thank God. Sean replies,  _ No worries man! Hope everything’s okay! _

_ Yeah, we’re fine. Just running to the store to pick up a replacement side dish. We should be there within twenty minutes or so. _

_ Cool. See you then! _

Sean shows Claire the text (and there’s this horrifying moment when she takes his phone to get a closer look, and even though Sean doesn’t have anything incriminating on his phone, his heart still skips a beat), and it convinces her to gather everybody in the dining room. Sean takes a seat next to Daniel, and Claire sits down across from him.

Sean is seconds away from digging in, when Claire puts a hand out in front of him. “We have to say Grace before we can eat,” she says. Sean tries not to roll his eyes. Sean may not believe in that crap, but Claire obviously does, so there’s no reason to be a dick about it.

Everybody puts their hands together and closes their eyes. Claire, barely above a whisper, says the prayer.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord, Amen.”

There’s a chorus of “amens” that echoes throughout the room, and Sean is about to reach out and grab some turkey, when again, Claire stops him. Jesus, lady, he’s  _ hungry. _

“I think we should go around the table and each say something we’re thankful for,” she says. “We know this has been a tough year, especially for our boys.” She gestures at Sean and Daniel. “And I believe it’s important to remind ourselves of the good things in life when things get tough.”

If you’d asked Sean a few weeks ago what the good things in his life were, he would have said, “Nothing. There’s nothing good in my life. It’s all shit.” But now, he’s got a little perspective. He’s still...really sad. A lot. And he thinks about Dad every fucking day, but there  _ are _ good things in his life. Despite everything, he’s still got a family. He’s got a roof over his head, and he’s got  _ all _ this food in front of him.

_ That Claire won’t let him fucking eat. _

When Sean came to, the day of the Incident—which it’s hard to believe it already almost a month ago—the first thing on his mind was, “We can’t be here. We have to go.” Sean was ready and willing to leave behind everything and run away. His brain was still foggy, but he knew that if they stayed, Daniel could be in danger. But something stopped him, some tiny little voice in his head that kept whispering, “No, dude. That’s a bad idea. If you run away, everything will turn to shit. Call Lyla instead.”

So that’s what he did, and so, Sean is thankful for that little voice in his head telling him what to do. Because, damn, life still sucks. He’s still depressed, orphaned, and forced to live in a new, decidedly more conservative town. But now that Sean is thinking on it with a clearer head, he’s sure he made the right decision.

Obviously, Sean doesn’t  _ say _ this, because you don’t just start talking about the voices in your head in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner with your conservative grandparents without signing your own admittance papers to the local mental health clinic. So instead, when it gets to Sean, he says, “I’m thankful for Claire and her deliciously looking food.”

Everybody laughs. They go around the table and each person says what they’re thankful for. And finally, Claire lets them fill up their plates. Sean grabs a slice of dark meat turkey, somet stuffing, a boatload of mashed potatoes, some cheesy mac, and just a little bit of that canned cranberry sauce that Charles brought—which Sean secretly really enjoys. It all looks so good, and he’s about to  _ finally _ take his first bite when— 

_ Ding-dong. _

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding.

“That’s probably Kent,” Sean says. “I’ll get it.”

“Kent?” Stephen says absently, but Sean pays him no mind. Claire probably just forgot to tell him Sean invited someone over.

Sean shovels one bite of mash in his mouth—because otherwise he might literally wither away—and jumps up to answer the door. He swings the door open, expecting to see Kent, but that’s not who he sees. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with a middle-aged woman, with short, cropped blonde hair and a weathered look, as if she hasn’t slept in weeks.

Sean glares at her, like he’s not sure if she’s just his imagination or not. But she speaks, confirming that he’s not hallucinating.

“Hi Sean,” Karen says. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to throw out another quick thank you to my amazing beta reader El_Bracco. This story wouldn't exist in this capacity without you, bud <3
> 
> I also wanted to throw out a thank you to all the lovely members of both the Wolf's Den and Puerto Lobos (18+) servers, who have been instrumental in research and helping me work out certain topics, particularly some that are coming up in future chapters.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** While it’s not dwelled on for too long, this chapter does contain talk of self-loathing that might be triggering to some readers.

The dining room is literally right next to the front door, so of course everybody hears it slam in Karen’s face. As Sean stomps back to the table and sits down, Claire watches him in confused bewilderment.

“That was rude, Sean. Who was at the door?”

“Nobody,” he snips. “Just...some salesman.”

“On Thanksgiving?” Claire wipes her mouth off on her napkin and gets up to see who’s at the door. She opens it, and her expression is much like what Sean imagines his own was when she sees who’s standing on the other side.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she says. Everybody perks up. It’s not often that one gets to hear a swear word come from the mouth of Claire Reynolds.

Karen is far enough away that Sean can’t make out every word she says, but he does catch, “Please, Mom. I’m just…”

Stephen hears that part, too, because he nearly chokes on his food and stands up. “Karen? Karen’s here?”

Daniel looks over at Sean. “Karen? Sean, isn’t that...isn’t that Mom’s name?”

“Yeah,” Sean says, decidedly ignoring everything else that’s happening in the foyer. He’s been waiting all day for this fucking turkey, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before he lets his estranged, deadbeat mother take that away from him, too.

“What’s going on?” Chris asks.

“Our wonderful mother has returned home,” Sean deadpans.

He takes another bite of turkey, trying not to let it taste as bitter as he feels. It doesn’t work. The once tender and juicy meat now feels dry and tasteless in his mouth. Fuck, man. Why does Karen have to ruin  _ everything _ ? Sean doesn’t even like Thanksgiving, and he’s still pissed at her for ruining it.

Scattered bits of the conversation hit Sean’s ears. Claire’s raising her voice, which she hardly ever does. “You don’t get to just show up here unannounced, Karen. You made your choice eight years ago, when you decided to leave them, to leave  _ us. _ ”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry to just show up here like this. But, since Esteban died...I don’t expect to be welcomed back with open arms, and I wouldn’t...I don’t want that. I just want the chance to make things right. The boys are my last connection to Esteban, and I don’t want to go out knowing things could have been different.”

“Bullshit,” Sean scoffs under his breath. He shovels another bite of stuffing into his mouth, but it just doesn’t taste the same.

Claire stutters as she tries to find the right words to say, but they must not come to her, because Karen just continues. “Please, I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just asking for the chance to...to explain myself to them. To help them understand, and to...to maybe understand them. Don’t ruin things for them the way you ruined things for me.”

This whole time, Daniel has been looking around like he’s searching for an escape hatch. He’s starting to panic, and normally that would scare the shit out of Sean, that he might accidentally activate his powers. But Sean’s mind is too clouded with angry dark thoughts for him to really register. Still, he places a hand on Daniel’s thigh to calm him down.

Chris looks uncomfortable and scared, but Charles isn’t nearly lucid enough to even comprehend what’s going on. Stupid fucking drunk. Sean wishes he would just go home.

The conversation by the door turns into an argument, with Karen trying to plead her case, but Claire is having none of it (it’s good to know she’s on his side), and Stephen just stands there with his mouth open, unable to form any kind of coherent speech.

Sean is almost finished with his meal—which was still satisfying if only because he was a few seconds away from passing out from low blood sugar—when Daniel abruptly pushes his chair back and stomps over to the front door.

“Daniel,” Sean calls. “What are you doing?”

He ignores him, instead pushing his way past Claire and Stephen to stand face-to-face with Karen. Sean finishes his last bite, wipes his mouth off, and chugs his water before joining them at the front door.

“Mom?” Daniel says, warily.

Karen looks at him like she’s seeing the night sky lit up with stars for the very first time. “Are you...Daniel?”

Daniel nods, and Karen covers her mouth with her hands. Ugh, really? The waterworks? Is that how she’s trying to win them over? Well, Sean isn’t buying it, that’s for damn sure.

“Oh gosh, you’re...you’re so big. You’ve grown so much.”

“You were that lady at Dad’s funeral,” Daniel states. “The one Sean got all mad at.”

Daniel’s right to be skeptical. Karen abandoned him, abandoned both of them, and Dad. Now, out of nowhere, she just shows up and expects to be a part of their lives? No, that’s absolute fucking horseshit.

“What do you want, Karen?” Sean says. “Why the hell are you here? And don’t give me that shit about wanting to be there for us. If that were true, you wouldn’t have waited until Dad fucking died to show up.”

“Sean Eduardo Diaz,” Claire scolds. “You watch your mouth. I know you’re angry, but—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sean says, crossing his arms and retreating back into the foyer.

“Karen, I think it’s best if you leave.” Claire stands firm in the doorway, her hand on the door ready to slam it at any moment.

“No!” Daniel says. Everybody looks at him. “No, I...I want her to stay.”

Sean spins back around like a soldier doing an about-face. “Really,  _ enano? _ This is the same lady that up and left you when you were still in diapers.”

“Sean, this is my first time seeing Mom since...well, like, ever. You got eight years with her but I have nothing…”

Claire sighs. “Alright, Daniel. If you really want her to stay that badly—”

“I do.”

“—then I suppose she can stay for a little bit.”

Sean scoffs. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“Hey, what did your grandmother say about swearing,” Stephen says pointlessly.

Sean throws his hands up. “Yeah. Whatever. I don’t even care. But I’m not coming down until she leaves.” He turns and stomps up the stairs, expecting somebody—probably Claire—to protest, to force him to stay back and talk to his mother.

But nobody stops him. Nobody cares.

Nobody ever cares.

Sean slams the door to his soon-to-be room, the one that used to belong to the woman standing in the doorway downstairs, and God, he wants to fucking throw something. But the only thing he has with him is his phone, and Sean may be reckless when he’s pissed, but he’s not fucking stupid. If he broke his phone while throwing a fit, there’s no way Claire would just buy him a new one.

So instead he punches the wall. Hard. It stings. Through tightly-clenched teeth, he stifles a pained groan. His knuckles burn and throb and his hand trembles. Sean’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he doesn’t remember closing them, but when he opens his eyes, he’s half expecting to see a gigantic hole blown through the wall, like he channeled all of his hatred and anger into his fist and activated some kind of superpowers, like Daniel. Like that kid from the anime Lyla got him into.

But no, there’s no hole in the wall. Just a slight, fist-shaped dent. A normal-sized dent. A perfectly average, painfully inadequate dent. Because he has no powers. He’s not Daniel. He doesn’t get everything he ever wants. Daniel is the one with the powers, Daniel is the one with the friends, Daniel is even the one that gets Claire’s sympathy. All Sean ever does is fuck up, get angry, and make his grandparents look bad.

All he is is just a perfectly average, painfully inadequate dent in the wall.

And now Karen’s here, and Daniel wants to talk to her, and so he gets to talk to her, and nobody ever thinks about what  _ Sean _ wants, and... _ FUCK. _

Sean is lucky there isn’t much of anything in this room yet, or something important would definitely be getting destroyed right now. All that’s in here is the bookshelf and the armchair. They got rid of the desk and the dresser because Stephen was going to take him to buy some new ones this weekend. Wonder if that’s even happening anymore. Or if Sean is going to be grounded for all eternity because he raised his voice against the almighty Claire.

He needs to get this anger out. Punching the wall helped, but now his hand is hurting like hell, and he’s got too much pride to go downstairs and ask for some painkillers or first aid. And he’ll be fucking damned if his ass is gonna touch the same seat his deadbeat mother’s did in her teenage years, so instead of sitting on the chair, he just sits in the corner, folds his arms over his knees, and hides his face.

He sits like that for who knows how long, and then there’s a knock at the door.

“Go away,” Sean says. “I’m not talking to her, or you, or anybody else.”

The doorknob rustles a bit, until whoever’s on the other end realizes it’s locked. Sean hadn’t even meant to lock it, but man he’s glad he did. “I said go away.”

“Sean, it’s me,” Kent says from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Shit. In all the commotion, Sean forgot he even invited Kent over. Well, this is just a great first impression to make on a new friend.

Sean unlocks the door but doesn’t open it, and by the time Kent steps into the room, closing the door behind him, Sean is already back in his corner, moping.

“Your grandma said I could find you up here.” Kent crosses the room and sits down on the floor next to Sean. “There um, seemed to be something happening downstairs? Nobody said anything about it, and your grandma was nice and invited us in, but I could tell we were kind of...interrupting something.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Sean pouts. He looks over at Kent, and the faint glimmer of a smile crosses his lips. “Thanks for coming, man. I could use somebody who’s on my side right now.”

“Of course. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Sean rests his chin on his arms. “Not really,” he says. “But I guess I should anyway.” He sighs. “My mom’s back.”

Kent looks at him, puzzled. “Your mom? Back from where?”

“Away,” Sean says. “She’s...she left us when I was eight. Abandoned me and my dad right after my baby brother was born. And now she thinks she can just waltz back into our lives because Dad is dead. Like she has  _ any _ right to be in our lives anymore.”

“Man,” Kent sighs. “That’s...messed up.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding.” Sean bites his lip. “Sorry, I swear a lot. Hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“You’re fine, dude,” he says. “Besides, you’ve already sworn around me.”

“Shit, really? I didn’t even notice.”

“You just did it again there, too.”

Sean laughs. “Fuck. Oh, God damn it.”

Now they’re both laughing, and it’s good. It’s so good to laugh. It eases the tension in the air a bit, makes Sean feel a little calmer, a little less angry. But soon the laughter dies off, like every good thing in Sean’s life, and he’s left with a hole in his chest where the anger used to reside. “It’s just...I don’t see why she decided to come back  _ now _ . She was gone for eight fucking years, and now she just decides she wants to be a part of our lives? I don’t get it. What’s her angle?”

“Maybe she doesn’t have an angle,” Kent says. “Maybe hearing about your dad just...made her appreciate things a little more.”

“That’s bullshit. If she appreciated us, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“I don’t know, man. Sometimes you need to be apart from something to realize it mattered to you in the first place.”

Sean scoffs. “Man, don’t come spouting that shit to me. She had eight years of absence to make her heart grow fonder. She never came back, until now. That’s suspicious, right?”

“Maybe.” Kent shrugs. “Or maybe she just realized that she’s not going to be around forever, and wants to make the most of the time she has left. And maybe that includes reconciling with her kids.”

A lump starts forming in Sean’s throat.  _ Man, don’t start crying now, not in front of your new friend. _ “It’s just...Ugh, it’s so fucking stupid. Never mind.”

“What? No, tell me.”

Sean groans. “It’s just...if she really does just want to be in our lives now, then...it wasn’t me. I wasn’t good enough to make her stay, and I wasn’t good enough to make her come back. It was never going to be me.”

“Sean, you’re not responsible for your mom’s shitty decisions,” Kent says. “You were, what? Eight? What were you gonna do to convince her to stay? If she didn’t know what she was leaving behind, that’s on her.”

Sean doesn’t know how to respond. He’s right, of course, but admitting that would mean Sean has to give up this self-pity he’s wallowing in, and he’s not ready to do that yet. “Sometimes I wonder what would happen if it were me,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if I’d died instead of Dad. Would she still show up? Would she want back in Daniel’s life? What if I was the one holding her back, and with me gone…”

“Sean, stop it.”

But it’s too late. A sob racks his body, and he puts his head between his knees again. He feels Kent scooting closer to him, but he doesn’t do or say anything. He just sits there and lets Sean cry. And Sean thought it would be embarrassing, letting somebody he just met see him cry, but it’s not. Kent’s presence, the heat from his body next to his, it’s comforting. He never tries to get closer, to hold him or anything, and Sean is grateful, because he’s honestly not sure how he would react to being touched right now.

He feels so stupid, crying like this. He got over Karen leaving years ago, so he shouldn’t be crying like this, he shouldn’t be upset. Sean swallows his tears and lets out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You came over here for a nice relaxing holiday and instead you just walk into my family drama. You shouldn’t have to see me...break down like this.”

“Actually, it’s kind of nice seeing this side of you,” Kent says. Then, horrified, he quickly adds, “N-not like, like I don’t like seeing you cry, that part sucks. I mean for you, it sucks that you’re crying, I don’t mind it. Like I’m not mad that you’re crying or anything. I just mean...fuck.” He laughs. “I just mean, it’s nice getting to see your vulnerable side. At school you’ve always been so closed-off, and even when we started talking you were still really standoffish, no offense. Like I could tell you didn’t hate me or anything but you didn’t seem open to...to finding new friends. Sorry, I’m...I’m saying all of the wrong things aren’t I?”

“No,” Sean says, actually cracking a smile. “Honestly, your dorkiness is kinda comforting.”

Kent smiles back. “Yeah, sure, okay, like you’re Mr. Cool-Guy.”

“Hey, I never said I  _ wasn’t _ a dork. Just that you are.”

It’s only now that Sean realizes he’s actually made a friend here in Beaver Creek. That’s something he didn’t think was possible when he first showed up here, all damaged and lonely, while everybody else just treated him like a news article. But here he is, crying—about something that  _ isn’t  _ his dad for once, sort of—in front of somebody he’s only really known for a couple of days. Maybe that’s progress.

Maybe, but Sean still isn’t ready to completely open himself up to others, not yet. Maybe not ever.

But talking with Kent...it’s a start.

There’s another knock at the door, but this time Claire’s voice comes from the other side. “Sean? Can we talk?”

Sean groans. He gets up from the floor, dries his eyes off on his hoodie, and opens the door.

Claire’s eyes are red and puffy, much like Sean imagines his own are right now. It’s clear she’s been crying, too.

“What?” he says, trying to look peeved to cover the fact that he was crying, probably wildly unsuccessfully.

“Karen just left, so why don’t you come back down for dessert. Chris and Charles left a while ago, but your friend and his mom are welcome to stay.”

She’s clearly still upset, but she’s deflecting with sweets. That seems typical of Claire; she’d rather avoid problems than confront them. Maybe that’s part of why Karen left, because desserts can’t mend a broken heart.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Kent says. “We can...we can go if you guys would like to be alone as a family…”

“No!” Sean says, maybe a bit too suddenly. “Um, I mean...please stay. I…” He doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes having Kent around. He probably wouldn’t be able to make it through the night with just his family. Kent is like his lifeboat when the entire world is the Titanic. “You, uh...you have to try Claire’s pumpkin pie. It rules.”

Claire smiles. “Sean, you haven’t had my pumpkin pie in eight years.”

“Yeah, but it stuck in my memory. It was  _ that _ good.”

Claire turns to leave, and Kent and Sean exchange one final unreadable glance before following her down the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

After Kent and his mom leave, Stephen tells Sean to get up early tomorrow for Black Friday shopping.

Beaver Creek is a small town, so while stores are still busier than usual on Black Friday, Claire and Stephen say it’s not nearly as crazy-hectic as it was the one time they stayed in Seattle for Thanksgiving.

“You couldn’t go five feet without somebody running into you or grabbing things out of your hands,” Claire says. “Here it’s much more relaxed.”

“We’ll be able to find you some nice furniture for your room fairly cheap,” Stephen says.

“That sounds awesome,” Sean says, cutting himself one last piece of Claire’s pumpkin pie—he’s had a rough night, just let him have this. Turns out homemade dessert actually  _ is _ the cure for a broken heart.

Man, Sean can’t wait to have his own room again. Not that Daniel is a particularly bad roommate, but Sean is sixteen. He doesn’t want to have to share a bed with his nine-year old baby brother. Like, what if he brought a girl over? What would he tell her?  _ Yeah, this is my room, ignore the toys and princess pajamas, let’s go make out on the bed in which my snot-nosed kid brother also sleeps. _ Yeah, no thanks.

So tonight is the last night Sean will be sleeping in the same bed as Daniel. And as excited as he is to have a little privacy, he is gonna miss the little twerp, and their late night talks, and his body heat trapped under the blanket, keeping Sean warm in the chilly November nights.

But none of that can compete with not having to worry about waking Daniel when he gets up in the middle of the night to pee, or being able to lounge around without pants on worry-free. Or the ability to,  _ ahem _ ...take his time, and not have to try and squeeze in a quick wank in the thirty minutes Sean has the room to himself before Daniel gets out of school.

Okay, and there are other reasons why he wants his own room  _ besides _ that stuff, like having a place to quietly work on homework, space to put his things (first he needs to get some things), and being able to listen to music or watch movies without headphones. In other words, Sean is just really looking forward to having his own room, okay?

By the time Sean gets out of the shower, Daniel’s already climbed into bed, but Sean can tell he’s still awake by the pattern of his breathing. Sean climbs in next to him and shuts off the lamp on their nightstand.

“Sean?” Daniel says.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I...I liked hanging out with Mom today. I wish you had been there.”

Sean groans and rolls away from Daniel. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, dude.”

“But I do.” Daniel sits up. “We talked for a long time about why she left, and why she’s back. She...she misses you, Sean. She told me.”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“I didn’t really get everything she was saying, but it sounded like—”

“Daniel,  _ enough! _ ” Sean snaps. He sits up. “I said I don’t fucking want to talk about this right now. Maybe not ever. Karen fucked up our lives by walking out on us, and I will never,  _ ever _ forgive her for that, no matter what bullshit excuses she might throw our way. Whatever her reason was, she still abandoned us. She never cared about either of us enough to stay. I’m not gonna let that go just because she suddenly decides she misses me.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a while, and it’s an uncomfortable silence that Sean has experienced before. There’s a pull to the air like before a thunderstorm, where everything is tense and quiet and smells of the promise of rain. It’s the silence that usually happens right before Daniel starts crying. But not the loud and obnoxious “Sean smashed my action figure” crying, the kind that he used strategically to get Sean in trouble. No, it’s the crying that only happens when Sean has said something that  _ really _ cut Daniel, like the time in ninth grade when he said he wished Daniel had never been born, or the time he told Daniel that he would never want to hang out with a loser like him.

All of those things were said out of anger, out of frustration at his little brother, but he never meant them. But Daniel is a kid, and he doesn’t get that. He doesn’t understand that sometimes people say things without meaning them, that Sean doesn’t always think before he speaks. This time, though, he’s not mad at Daniel, and he does mean what he said. Karen never gave two shits about either of them—that’s just a fact. 

But maybe he didn’t have to yell at him for it.

Shit. “Daniel, I’m so—”

“I’m mad at her too, you know?” he says, interrupting him. His voice is hoarse. “But I’m not like you, Sean. I don’t like being mad all the time.”

“I’m not mad all the time!” Sean says, but even as he says it, he knows it isn’t true. He  _ is _ mad all the time. Even when he’s not thinking about it, there’s always that part of him in the back of his mind that constantly swirls in anger.  _ Cops killed your dad, your mom walked out on you, your best friend keeps ditching you, you have to share a room with your brother, Claire’s rules are too uptight... _ Sean can’t seem to let go of all that anger, and it just keeps swelling and building.

How the hell does Daniel do it? How does he manage to stop being angry?

But Daniel doesn’t say anything else, so Sean just scoffs and rolls over. “Whatever.”

There’s nothing wrong with being angry all the time. Somebody’s gotta be, right? If he doesn’t get angry about this shit, then who will?

# # #

Without Daniel’s powers helping, it takes Sean most of the afternoon to get everything they bought up to his new room. Thankfully, he decided he didn’t want anything super fancy, so they went with a wire bed frame and a standard mattress, and the desk and dresser they bought were still in the box, so it wasn’t terribly difficult to haul them up there. But once everything was in the room, they still had to put it all together, and Stephen is notoriously difficult to work with when it comes to handiwork, so Sean leaves him be as he tries to figure out if he has enough B screws or if he needs to go back to the store and demand a refund.

Without anything else to do, Sean heads to the kitchen for a mid-afternoon snack and sees Daniel at the kitchen table, working on homework.

Sean knows he should apologize for last night, for blowing up at him. He spends so much time drowning in his own grief and anger that he tends to forget other people feel that way, too. But Sean’s...he’s not good at this, at wearing his heart on his sleeve. Daniel’s right—he’s not like Sean. He’s compassionate and caring and Sean...Sean’s just a dick. To everybody.

And sometimes, he can’t help but worry that it's just part of his nature.

“They gave you homework over break?” Sean says, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and sitting down across from his brother. He’s not sure what he wants to accomplish with this conversation, if he’s going to say sorry or just try and mend the fence.

“Yeah,” Daniel says, not looking up from his workbook. He doesn’t say anything else.

“That blows, dude. I didn’t even get any homework.” Okay, that’s not entirely true. Sean still has a history paper to work on, but that’s not due until Christmas break, and he’s got it in the bag, anyway. Want to know about Robert E. Lee? He was a racist shithead. There, essay done.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Daniel says.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

Daniel puts his pencil down and looks up. “Can you just leave me alone, Sean?” he says. “Grandma says if I get my homework done, she’ll let me back on the PlayBox.”

Sean tries not to be hurt by his words. This is normal for them, he has to remind himself. They weren’t always the kind of brothers who have heart-to-hearts and share their feelings. Sure, they did sometimes, particularly when Sean did something to piss Daniel off and had to apologize, but...maybe they’re just not as close as Sean likes to think sometimes. Maybe they were only close because of...because of Dad, and now that the initial grief has passed, they’re just going to go back to how things used to be—with them enjoying each other’s company but never really going any deeper than that.

Fuck, is Sean really losing everybody in his life because of this?

That, or Daniel just wants back on his PlayBox and Sean is busy distracting him. Maybe Sean shouldn’t take everything so personally.

“Sure, yeah,” Sean says, backing away from the table. “I’ll leave you alone. Just...let me know if you need any help.”

“No offense, but you’re kind of shit at math.”

“Dude, watch your language. What if Claire hears you?”

“So what? You swear all the time. You swore at me last night.”

Sean doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right; Sean did swear at him last night. All right, this is his chance to apologize. Just say it. “That’s...different,” Sean says, fucking things up for himself once again. “I’m...it’s different when you’re older. I’m allowed to swear.”

“That’s not what grandma says.”

_ Well, tough shit. Claire can deal. _ Ugh, obviously he can’t say that. “Yeah, well...what Claire doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Daniel doesn’t respond, so Sean leaves him to his homework.

Ugh, he’s so bored. The excitement of his new room has faded into the back of his mind as he waits for Stephen to finish setting up his furniture, and with no real homework over break, Sean has nothing to do. He could boot up  _ The Last of Us _ again, since he’d been meaning to get back to that one, but Daniel’s already pissed at him, so he doesn’t want to make it worse by rubbing it in that Sean can play video games and he can’t. Plus, turning on the TV in the other room would probably distract him, so he decides against it.

Well, maybe he should start getting his stuff together to move into the new room once Stephen’s done. Or, heck, he could probably start transferring his shit over there now, like he’s been doing over the past week. Not that he has much to move; he left most of his stuff back in Seattle. He’s regretting not taking that iPod dock now.

He heads up to his room—his old room, the one he’s been sharing with Daniel—and grabs some of his stuff from the wardrobe to move into the closet in the other room. Sean still isn’t sure what he’s going to do with all of that closet space, considering he only has like, one week’s worth of clothes that he just washes whenever he gets the chance. He steps past Stephen—who has finished putting together the dresser, but is having trouble finding that last B screw for the desk like he suspected—and hangs his clothes up.

“How’s it coming?” Sean asks.

Stephen scans the ground, squinting as he searches the floor for the last piece. “If I can just find that screw, your desk should be all...set...aha! Here it is!” He grabs the tiny metal screw from the floor and raises it above his head in triumph, and gets to work screwing the last board in place.

“Awesome. Thanks again, Stephen.”

“Of course, Sean.” Stephen looks up. “How are you doing? With school and...everything?”

Ugh, is this going to be another one of those awkward talks where they skirt around the topic of Dad’s death and try and pretend that everything’s normal? That this is how things have always been? Or is this Stephen trying to bring up Karen’s surprise visit last night?

“Fine,” Sean says as Stephen finishes drilling the screw in with his power tools. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve only been here a month.”

“It’s nice that you made a friend,” Stephen says. He stands the desk up, and Sean helps him push it against the wall where he wanted it. “I was happy to see you invited somebody over for Thanksgiving.”

Sean feels heat rushing to his cheeks for some reason. “Kent is...we sorta just met. I don’t know if I’d consider us friends yet.”

“He seemed pretty friendly.”

What is that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You boys were up there a long time,” he says. What is this, an interrogation? Sean’s stomach twists. “I know you were quite upset when you stormed off. I hope having him here was...helpful.”

“It was, yeah. He’s...Kent is a really nice guy.”

“I believe I’ve seen him and his mother at church before. Nice family. It’s a shame about his…” Stephen cuts himself short. Sean ignores it. He knows Stephen was about to bring up Kent’s dad, which would be a mighty fine gateway for Sean to fall into self-pity. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I know it’s tough on you boys. I can’t claim to know exactly what you’re going through—my dad died from old age—but if you ever want to talk—”

“I said it’s fine, Stephen,” Sean snaps. “And I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Sean tries to distract himself by checking the drawers and shelves on his new desk. Stephen gets to work putting the bed frame together, which is a relatively small task. Sean sits down in his new desk chair—the kind that has wheels—and spins around in a circle in the seat, much like the thoughts in his head.

Why does he always do this? Why does he drive everybody away? Daniel’s mad at him, Stephen is clearly through speaking with him for the moment, and even Lyla’s canceling plans. Sean  _ knows _ it’s him, that people are just sick of dealing with his shitty attitude. But...Fuck, he almost can’t help it. It’s like the anger just oozes out of him. And he’s angry about so much. It started with the huge things—his dad dying, the cop shooting him, having to leave the only life he’s ever known. But now, it’s just, like, everything. Every little thing pisses him off. The kids at school, Chris’s dad, Daniel being Daniel, Stephen trying to pity him, Claire giving him a hard time…

And that’s not even mentioning  _ Karen. _

What’s more, Sean wants to say sorry. He doesn’t  _ like _ blowing up at other people, hurting their feelings, it just kind of  _ happens.  _ But if he apologizes, it’s like saying he’s wrong for being angry, that those things shouldn’t bother him. But how can he not be mad at the world for taking his dad away from him? For making him move all the way out to Oregon? For giving his idiot brother superpowers but not him?

No, he’s not jealous of Daniel. Sean doesn’t really care that he has powers. But...sometimes he does think about what it would be like if he was the one who could move shit with his mind and not Daniel. What would he do if he could force-choke somebody who pissed him off?

Would that even be a good thing?

Stephen finishes with the bedframe and Sean, still not really saying anything to him, helps him with the mattress. Once that’s all set up, the room is more or less complete—Sean still has to set up his desk and load some of the clothes into his new dresser, but that won’t take long. Sean sits down on his new mattress, his new bed, his  _ own _ bed, and sinks into the fabric. It’s comfy, maybe not as comfy as the one in the spare bedroom, but it’s  _ his _ .

As Stephen turns to leave, packing up his tools before heading to the door, Sean knows this is his last real shot at apologizing for snapping at him. If he does it later, it won’t have the same impact. “Hey Stephen,” he says, and Stephen turns back to look at him. Yet, looking him in the face, he still can’t bring himself to say the words. So instead he apologizes in his own way. “Thanks for everything.”

Stephen smiles in understanding. “Of course, Sean. Enjoy your new room.”

_ His new room _ . Man, that feels good. He looks around and takes it all in. The view of the room seems different from the bed, somehow. It’s in the same corner as where Karen’s used to be, but much lower to the ground, since the cheap wire frame they got only goes so high. It’s only about high enough to slip his shoes under, which is honestly fine. Maybe it’ll actually help him keep his room clean instead of just shoving everything he doesn’t want to deal with under his bed.

In Karen’s room, the desk was at the foot of the bed, but in Sean’s, the desk and dresser are both on the opposite side of the room, where Karen’s toy chest used to be. The bookshelf remains more or less where it used to be, and the musty armchair—which is now covered up with one of Claire’s handmade quilts—sits in the same place next to it. There’s a lot of open space where Karen’s desk and dresser used to be, which Sean could maybe use as a place to stretch out before his morning jogs.

The walls are still pitifully bare. He likes the paint color, and they’ve remounted the shelves that Sean can use for books and, heck, maybe a skateboard like the one he had back at home, but other than that, they’re completely empty. He’s picturing a  _ Misty Mice _ poster on the wall next to the bookshelf, maybe he could throw up some of his own artwork—if that doesn’t make him look too full of himself—and...oh yeah. He still has all of those pictures from the house, doesn’t he? Maybe he could hang one of those up.

Then again, it would feel kind of weird to have a picture of him and his brother staring at him in a room he plans to use for...activities. So maybe not.

Either way, the room definitely feels like it’s  _ his _ . The carpet is the same, but Claire hired a cleaner, so it no longer has that dull, faded dinge that carried with it the 20-some-year history of Karen Reynolds-Diaz. He pulls out his phone to text Lyla, to tell her all about not only his new room, but the  _ shitstorm _ that was Karen’s surprise appearance yesterday, but he remembers that she had to work this weekend. And, while Sean and Lyla are usually no stranger to texting when they’re not supposed to, Sean decides against it. “Hey my mom showed up last night” is not a conversation you start while somebody only has about ten seconds to respond.

He needs to tell her, though. About Karen, that is. The room isn’t important. But he needs to talk with somebody about it, somebody that isn’t Daniel, who’s clearly on her side, or Claire and Stephen, who seem to be still making up their minds.

Somebody like his best friend in the entire universe, who seems to be too busy to send him more than the occasional meme or a “miss you” text.

_ Stop it, Sean. Lyla loves you. She’s probably just busy. _

_ But if she really loved you, wouldn’t she make time? _

Ugh, leave it to Sean to depress himself, even during the excitement of lying down in his new room for the first time.

After dinner, Daniel is still giving him the cold shoulder, and it’s driving Sean insane. He knows he fucked up, that he shouldn’t have yelled at him last night, but can you really blame him? You try being calm when the mother that abandoned you eight years ago suddenly decides she wants to un-abandon you. It was a rough night.

Oh, okay. Well. Daniel was able to stay calm through that exact scenario but...but it’s different! Daniel never knew Karen like Sean did. She was gone before he could even commit things to long-term memory. The kid probably hadn’t even developed object permanence yet, so Mom never existed for him in the first place. But Sean had eight years—eight fucking years—with her. Eight years getting to know her, learning to love her, discovering what it was like to have a mom that loved him, only for that all to be ripped away from him.

So yeah, he’s fucking mad. But Daniel was out of line saying that shit, that he  _ likes _ being mad. Fuck that noise. Nobody actually likes being mad. But anger is all Sean is anymore.

Anger is...fuck, he really needs to apologize, doesn’t he?  _ Ugh. _

After his shower, Sean puts his new bedsheets on his mattress, but instead of going to sleep, he waits for Daniel to get out of the shower. He looks super sleepy as he trudges across the hall back to their room— _ his _ room now.

“Hey Daniel,” he says, poking his head out from his door.

Daniel stops and drowsily turns to him. “What?”

“Do you...you wanna see my new room?”

“Sean, I’m really sleepy, I…”

“C’mon,  _ enano _ , it’ll be cool. Plus I...I want to talk to you.”

Daniel groans but he follows Sean back into the room. “Wow,” he deadpans. “Super cool. It’s a room.”

“Aw, come on, man. Can’t you be more excited for me? It’s like my own little man cave.”

Daniel laughs. “Sure, it’ll be a man cave when you start growing some chest hair.”

Sean playfully shoves his brother. “Pfft, shut up. Take a seat in the rolling chair, dude. It’s hella fun.” He rolls the chair out from underneath his desk, and Daniel sits down. Sean gently spins the chair around, gradually picking up speed, and eventually Daniel starts laughing in glee, and Sean has to smile.

He may be shit at actually apologizing, but damn if he isn’t good at making it up to people in other ways.

“Sean,” Daniel laughs. “Stop it, I’m dizzy!”

Both laughing, Sean brings the chair to a stop, and Daniel attempts to stand up, but he’s suddenly walking like he’s drunk, and nearly tumbles over into the dresser before Sean catches him.

“Daniel, I…” Damn it, he really thought he could do it this time. But maybe he’s just not ready to admit that he’s wrong for being mad, wrong for feeling how he’s feeling.

“I know,” Daniel says, steadying himself against his brother while his head stops spinning. “I’m sorry, too. But...you were really mean to me last night.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sean says. “I don’t mean to be, I just…”

“I get it, Sean. You’re mad at Mom. So am I, but at least I’m trying to be nice to her. You don’t get it, you don’t get just  _ how _ much I’m feeling. It’s...it’s so much, Sean, and I’m trying every day to keep myself from blowing up…”

Realization dawns on Sean’s face.

Daniel isn’t speaking metaphorically here. He  _ knows _ his powers are linked to his emotions, he knows if he gets mad, he could end up hurting somebody, or worse…

Sean never thought about it that way. Even if he knew about Daniel’s powers, his mind had always separated them for some reason. There’s the Daniel that’s just his nine-year old brother, a rambunctious kid who’s sad and bitter, but also full of life and hope; and then there’s the Daniel that has powers, the Daniel that could split Sean’s head open if he wanted to.

And Sean hasn’t done much to make Daniel  _ not _ want to.

“You’re right,” Sean says. “I’m...You’re right.”

Daniel yawns, and starts heading towards the door. “Well, I’m sleepy. G’night, Sean.”

“Yeah, night,  _ enano _ .”

Once Daniel leaves, Sean collapses onto his own bed. He checks the alarm clock sitting on his dresser. Shit, it’s only 10:30? Why the fuck is he so tired?

_ I guess being an emotional black hole 24/7 really takes a lot out of ya. _

He almost doesn’t even have the energy to get up and turn off the lights, but Sean can’t sleep unless it’s dark, so he drags himself up and shuts the lights off anyway. He plugs his phone in and sets it on the desk. The display lights up, and Sean notices he got a text message while he was in the shower.

It’s from Kent:  _ Hey man, I hope you’re feeling better today. I wanted to text you earlier but I didn’t want to be weird lol _

That’s sweet of him to check in, though Sean isn’t sure why that would be weird. He sends a quick reply before hopping back into bed.

_ Hey, not weird at all! I’m doing a bit better today, yeah. I’m about to head to bed but maybe we could hang out sometime this weekend? I think I need to be around people that aren’t my family hahaha _

Sean’s phone buzzes almost immediately, but he is too tired to get back up. He drifts off, wishing he could just forget about all of the shitty things going on in his life and just focus on the good things. The things he should be thankful for, like his new room, and his new friend Kent.

But being thankful is a lot harder than it sounds.


	14. Chapter 14

You know, after a month of sleeping next to somebody else, it’s actually really jarring being in a bed all on your own.

Don’t misunderstand, Sean is happy to finally have his own bed, but Daniel slumbering next to him provided him with a certain level of comfort, just knowing somebody else was there. It let him write off every noise he heard at night as Daniel breathing or accidentally bonking the wall. Now, he hears a pin drop and his eyes snap open. Sean’s not a scaredy-wolf or anything, it’s just...something to get used to.

The walls in Karen’s room creak at night. It’s probably just the pipes settling—it is kind of an old house—but it still freaks Sean out whenever he hears it. He worries, briefly, that it’s a ghost or some malevolent spirit come to take his soul. Not that Sean believes in any of that shit. It makes him wonder, though—is this what Karen would hear at night?

Did she ever get used to it?

After a few hours of being jostled awake by the sounds of the house, unable to write them off as Daniel asleep next to him, he gets up, grabs his phone, and plugs in his headphones. He and Stephen forgot to pick up a nightstand, so Sean has to just plug his phone into the outlet next to the bed and hope the cable is long enough. It is, barely, and so Sean climbs back into bed, slips his headphones in, and presses play on his music, noticing the text Kent sent him about hanging out, but not having the energy to process it.

Man, of course, every song in his shuffle is some hard rock or upbeat jam, making it even harder for him to fall asleep. It’s just replacing the creaking of the walls with the beating of a drum. He scrolls through his library in a daze, finds a song he knows is relatively gentle, and puts it on repeat. He’ll probably get sick of the song before morning, but whatever. As long as it gets him to sleep. Maybe tomorrow he’ll build a sleep playlist or something.

Or maybe he should just man the fuck up and not be such a pussy. It’s just a little noise.

Sean’s not scared.

But maybe Daniel is. Shit, what if he’s going through the same thing as him? What if Daniel’s being kept awake by all the sounds of the house? What if something scares him and it activates his powers?

Sean looks over at his alarm clock. 3:23 A.M. Well, he’s wide awake now, so he pauses his music, creeps out of his bedroom and down the hall, tiptoeing past Stephen’s model train station and placing his ear against the door to Daniel’s bedroom.

Nothing. That’s good, hopefully. Maybe he is asleep.

Or maybe he’s just lying in bed, shivering with fear, trying to be as quiet as possible so the monsters don’t get him. That seems like something Daniel would do.

Maybe he should check on him. Just in case.

Sean slowly turns the doorknob and tries to open the door as quietly as humanly possible. But, once again, the house is old, so the door squeaks as it slides across the carpet. It sounds loud to Sean, but as he steps into the room, he sees Daniel, sprawled out on the full-size bed, taking up the entire width of it by spreading his arms and legs as far as they can go. His chest moves up and down at a steady rhythm, and his breathing is loud, almost like snoring.

The tension washes off of Sean as he sees this. He’s fine, better than fine. Daniel looks pleased as pudding to have the bed all to himself. He looks comfy, at peace. Sean lets out a sigh.

A sigh that, somehow, rocks Daniel from his sleep more than that loud-ass door. He jolts up in bed. “Huh? Who’s there?” He rubs his eyes. “Sean?”

“Uhh,” Sean stammers. “No, it’s...the boogey-man. I’ve come to...what does the boogey-man do? Does he eat dreams? I’ve come to eat your dreams!”

Daniel laughs. “What are you doing here, you loser? You have your own room now.”

“I...missed you?” Sean says. It’s not  _ that _ far from the truth.

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, who taught you that word?”

“Uhh, you did?”

They both laugh, but it quickly dies down. “So um,” Sean says, “are you...okay?”

“What do you mean?”

Sean crosses the floor and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Like...without me? You’re not...having any bad dreams or anything? No trouble falling asleep?”

“Sean, it’s been like four hours.”

“I know, I just...I’m worried, I guess. That’s all. I don’t want you to have a nightmare and accidentally blow up the house because I’m not here to protect you.”

“Geez, you don’t have to treat me like such a baby.”

“I don’t mean to, but I mean, come on, Daniel, this is...what you can do, it’s scary. Especially because you don’t have control over it yet.”

Daniel pouts at him, and raises his arm. Suddenly, one of Daniel’s toy robot figures appears in his hand. No, not appears, more like it flings itself into Daniel’s hands. Sean feels it whip past his head on its way. Daniel floats the toy above his palm, making it look as though it’s resting just at the surface of a body of water, bobbing up and down with the waves. “You were saying?”

“Holy shit, dude, that’s...when did you get so much better at this?”

“I’ve been practicing,” Daniel says. He turns away. “I...wanted to impress you.”

Sean gazes at the toy floating above his brother's head in astonishment, as Daniel spins it around in the air. And best of all: no explosions! “Well, mission fucking accomplished.”

The hall light flickers on outside, and Daniel gasps, dropping his powers—and dropping the toy on Sean’s head. “Ow!” Sean exclaims, rubbing the bump on his head.

“Sorry,” Daniel whispers.

Sean cranes his neck when he hears footsteps approaching the room, and sees Stephen pop up into the doorway. “What are you boys still doing up? Sean? Why aren’t you in your room?”

“Uhh, couldn’t sleep, I guess,” Sean says.

“He was  _ scaaaared _ ,” Daniel teases.

“Dude! Was not! When did I ever say that?”

“You didn’t, but I could tell. You practically  _ jumped _ when I woke up and noticed you.”

Stephen looks too tired to deal with this shit. “Sean, go back to your own room and leave your brother alone.”

“Really?” Sean scoffs. “I didn’t even do anything.”

But Sean is drowsily waved off by a retreating Stephen, and he groans as he drags himself off of the bed and picks up Daniel’s toy.

“Sorry,” Daniel says. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“It’s fine. I think Stephen was just exhausted. He probably won’t even remember in the morning anyway.”

Sean yawns, and places the toy back on the desk. He’s about to say good night and head back to his room, when Daniel uses his powers to close the door on him.

“Dude, what gives?”

“Sean? Are you...mad at me?”

“What? No, why would you even—”

“I talked to Mom again today.”

“You  _ what? _ ” Sean sits back down at the foot of the bed. This seems like it will be a conversation worth sitting for.

“Last night, she...gave me her phone number at Thanksgiving. And at first I didn’t think I was gonna do it, but...while you and Grandpa were out shopping, and I was bored from my grounding, I figured I didn’t have anything better to do, so I called her. Grandma was there, she knows about this. It’s not like I’m keeping it from her. But, I know you...hate Mom, so...I just wanted you to know.” Daniel’s face drops. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Oh,  _ enano _ .” Sean pulls his brother into a hug. “Of course I’m not mad at you. And I told you, I don’t hate our mom, she just...pisses me off.”

“Me too,” Daniel says, pulling away. “I hate that she left us, Sean. And I still don’t know why she did that. She tried to tell me yesterday but...I didn’t really get it.”

“Oh yeah? What excuse did she give? It better have been a good one.”

“She said...she wasn’t happy.”

Sean lays back, and stares at the ceiling. “Coulda fooled me.” He feels the tears welling up again, and before he can stop himself, he finds the words escaping him, barely above a whisper. “So it  _ was _ me.”

“What?”

Sean sobs without meaning to, wrestling for control over his own body and his own emotions, but it’s no use. “She wasn’t happy,” Sean says. “She loved Dad enough to show up to his funeral so it couldn’t have been him, and that just leaves me. I wasn’t enough to make her happy.”

“Sean…” Daniel hesitantly places a hand on Sean’s head, in an awkward attempt to try and comfort him, but it doesn’t work. Sean shrugs him off and rolls over. It’s quiet between them for a second, as Sean struggles to stop himself from crying, but then Daniel says, “It could have been me.”

“Dude, no way.” Sean sniffs. “You were just a baby. Babies make every mom happy. There’s no way it was you.”

“Then why did she leave right after I was born?”

“Maybe she got fed up with me complaining about you hogging all of her attention,” Sean says. “‘Cause I did that, y’know? When you were born I was  _ so _ fucking worried that Mom and Dad would stop spending as much time with me. And I guess I was right because Mom fucking left us, and then Dad was always way too busy trying to take care of you to spend any time with me. But that’s not your fault either, you were a fucking baby.”

“Sean, I may not really know why she left, and I might not get her reasons, but I  _ know _ she loves us. I know she loves  _ you. _ She kept asking about you last night, said she felt bad for making you upset, but she also kept asking Grandma and Grandpa what you were up to, how school was going. You shoulda seen the way she smiled when they told her you were a really good drawer. They even showed her some of the sketches you left in the kitchen, and she loved them. She wanted to take one back with her, but Claire wouldn’t let her without asking you first.”

“Wait, really?”

God, this is so fucking stupid. Sean can’t believe himself, but hearing that Karen—that his mom—liked his drawings feels...so fucking validating, for some reason. Like, Sean gives absolutely zero fucks what Karen thinks of him, honest. He literally could not give less of a fuck. You could plant a fuck farm and not a single crop would grow. The farm is in a fuck famine.

But still.

His mom likes his drawings.

So she likes  _ something _ about him.

Sean sniffs, wipes his eyes off and sits up. “Thanks, Daniel.”

“For what?”

“I dunno, just...thanks.” He hugs his brother one last time, still wiping off the last remnants of tears and snot from his face, and smiles softly at Daniel before heading back to his own room.

Sean falls back asleep almost immediately, exhausted from crying and calmed by the satisfaction of knowing that, despite everything, even though it’s such a small little thing, his mom doesn’t think he’s a complete fuck-up, unworthy of her love.

That shouldn’t mean anything to Sean, but it does.

It really fucking does.

# # #

Claire lifted Daniel’s grounding early, because she’s a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes of his, and he  _ was _ really mature about Karen’s surprise visit (she doesn’t say it like this, but Sean knows it’s her calling him out for his reaction, which is total bullshit because she was just as pissed as he was), so when Sean stumbles downstairs in the last few moments of the morning, Daniel’s already back on Minecraft. Damn, he was hoping he’d get  _ some _ time with the PlayBox this weekend, but that’s fine. Daniel deserves it.

Sean hasn’t been awake for long enough to reply to Kent’s text—with all the excitement of last night, he actually kind of forgot he’d even gotten a text from him—but Kent seems down to hang out tomorrow after church, which is cool. Sean needs friends right now. Especially since this weekend he was  _ supposed _ to be hanging out with Lyla.

Honest, he’s not mad at her or anything. Lyla has her own life separate from Sean’s, and those lives are 200 miles away from each other. They still text all the time—that much hasn’t changed—but it sucks not getting to see your best friend every day. It sucks not getting to see  _ any _ of your friends  _ any _ day.

Sometimes, Sean thinks that may be the roughest part of all of this. If he could stay in Seattle, if he could go to his school and be surrounded by everybody who cares about him, that would make things so much easier. It would still suck, but at least he could balance the suckiness with a movie night with Lyla and the gang, or passing a joint between him and Ellery. But instead, he’s trapped here in a new house, with a new family, and new classmates. No friends to speak of—besides Kent, but that’s still relatively new anyway—nothing to distract him from the hollow aching inside his stomach, from the hole in his heart the same size as the bullet hole through Dad’s.

It’s not that Beaver Creek is all bad—Stephen is pretty chill, and even Claire has her moments. And you’d be hard pressed to get him to admit it, but Sean actually likes spending time with Daniel—even if his powers do freak him out. And while a good 99% of the student body of Beaver Creek High seem to be absolute trash, Kent is...different. He’s kind, and he doesn’t judge Sean for not being a Christian, even though his faith is clearly important to him. Sean is actually surprised at how well he gets along with Kent, considering how hard he’d worked to avoid him that first day.

So yeah, life in Beaver Creek isn’t as bad as it could be.

But it sure as hell can’t match his old life. Which, in itself, was far from perfect, but at least he was happy. Or, well, if not happy, at least he wasn’t downright miserable all the time.

Sean shoots Kent a quick reply as he walks into the kitchen, saying that Sunday after church sounds like a plan, and sits down at the kitchen table. Then he texts Lyla and asks how her Black Friday was. He knows she worked, and while she doesn’t work retail—she’s a barista—he can’t imagine it was a slow day. Her replies come almost immediately, and it’s just a string of sobbing emotions interspersed with the raging emoji with the censor over its mouth.

_ That bad, huh? _

_ I’ll call you later and tell you all about it. Another shift today at 1.  _ More crying emojis.

_ Don’t kill anyone. _

_ Don’t tempt me. _

The scent of waffles and sausage fill the air, and Sean’s stomach betrays him, letting out a growl so primal you’d think he was a caveman.

“Well, there’s my sleepy, hungry grandson,” Claire says, flipping a waffle out of the waffle-maker and onto a plate for him, picking up a few sausages with a fork and sliding them onto his plate. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Sean says. “More or less.”

Claire sets the plate in front of him, and Sean barely waits a second before digging it. Claire’s Saturday morning breakfasts are  _ definitely _ on the list of “Things About Beaver Creek That Aren’t All Bad.”

“Stephen told me he found you in Daniel’s room last night?” Ugh, why does she have to make it sound weird? “Is something wrong about your room?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Sean says through a bite of syrup-drenched sugary goodness. He swallows, and washes it down with some orange juice. “I...couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see how Daniel was doing. The room is awesome, promise. Could use a nightstand, though. We forgot to pick one up yesterday.”

Claire smiles at him. “I’ll make sure Stephen knows.”

With nothing better to do, Sean settles in on the couch after breakfast to watch Daniel play Minecraft, though he mostly just uses it as an excuse to let his mind wander. Sean has never understood Minecraft, but Daniel loves it. Though, since he contacted Noah for him a few weeks ago, Sean thinks he knows the real reason why he loves it so much. Especially now, it’s nice to have that little slice of familiarity. When he plays with Noah, it’s like he never left Seattle. At least, that’s what Sean thinks.

It’s the same reason why he so  _ desperately _ wanted Lyla to come over this weekend. He knows she’s busy, but he misses her. He misses a lot of things about his old life, but Lyla is definitely near the top of that list. Getting to lay back and shoot the shit with his best friend for even one day would make him feel like nothing’s changed.

But things  _ have _ changed. Sean hasn’t wanted to admit it, but it’s always been a paperweight on his heart. He’s carried it around, tried to pretend it isn’t there, but it is. Things are different now. Sean has a new life to navigate, while Lyla has to adjust to Seattle-sans-Sean. They always said distance would never tear them apart…

Sean looks down at his phone and, damn. It’s already 1:30. He’s been sitting here for almost 2 hours. Daniel has moved on to playing Ultimate Wrestling Alliance online—probably with Noah, still—and Sean sort of wants to join in. It’s been awhile since he’s played UWA. But Daniel and Noah are having so much fun trash-talking each other through voice chat, that Sean doesn’t want to interrupt.

Instead he goes back upstairs to his room, swivels around in his chair, and rolls it back and forth across the room.

God, he’s bored.

He’s so bored that he’s about to pull up that essay he should be working on, when he’s mercifully saved by his phone going crazy on the desk. It’s a video call from Lyla.

Wait, isn’t she at work? Isn’t that the whole reason they couldn’t hang out this weekend?

Lyla’s camera is shaky and pixelated for a second, before steadying and smoothing out. Sean recognizes her work uniform, mostly by the dorky brown hat she’s forced to wear. Her hair is done up and stuffed inside the hat, and a light brown apron hangs over her shoulders.

“Lyla? What’s up? I thought you had to work.”

“I fucking hate this job, I swear to God.”

“Dude, language!” Sean says, kicking off in his chair and rolling back to close his bedroom door. “I know Claire’s old but she’s not deaf. She’s got like, super-Grandma hearing or some shit.” She once chewed Sean out for singing a song in the shower that said “fuck.” She was  _ downstairs _ . “What’s going on?”

“I’ve only been here for like, thirty minutes and I’ve  _ already _ gotten cussed out by another entitled white dude who  _ swears _ he ordered his coffee hot when me and everybody else in the store  _ distinctly _ heard him say iced.”

Sean crosses the room and sits at the foot of his bed. “Aw man, that’s shitty. I’m sorry, dude. Are you on break already?”

“Technically a smoke break,” Lyla says, pulling her phone back to reveal her standing outside the back entrance holding a lit cigarette. “I’m not getting a meal break today.”

“Dude, isn’t that illegal? You’re still a minor.”

“So is letting me have smoke breaks, but I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I can take as many five-minute smoke breaks as I want, but I gotta clock out for meal breaks.”

“Damn, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, well…” Lyla takes a drag from her cigarette, blows it out, and rolls her eyes. “That’s late-stage capitalism for ya.”

“I hear that,” Sean says. “I do kinda miss the money, but I definitely don’t miss giving up my afternoons and weekends restocking the Z-mart.”

“Aren’t your grandparents like, loaded? Can’t you just ask for money?”

Sean rubs at the back of his neck. “I feel bad enough that they just got stuck with us. I don’t want to impose on them more. Plus, I know they’re a couple’a upper-class white folks, but I don’t think they’re  _ loaded _ . They’re both retired, so I think anything they have is all savings or welfare.”

“Ohh, gotcha.” Lyla finishes her cigarette, and then Sean hears some indistinct shouting from off-camera, and Lyla groans. “Sorry, man. I gotta get back to work. I’ll try and come over next weekend, okay?”

“You better.”

Sean wishes he had more time with her. There’s so much he wants to talk to her about, not the least of which being Karen’s surprise visit, and the way Daniel’s been inexplicably drawn to forgive her. He doesn’t know what to do, and Lyla is always the person he would go to when he didn’t know what to do.

“Love you lots.” She blows him a kiss, which actually makes Sean half-smile.

“Yeah, you too. See ya.”

Lyla hangs up, and Sean collapses backwards onto his bed with an exasperated sigh. The one time he gets to talk to his best friend like, basically all week, outside of a few text messages, and it’s a short 5-minute conversation where all she does is complain about her job. Cool.

Fuck, stop being a dick, Sean. Lyla has her own issues to deal with. He can’t keep being selfish and expecting her to just drop everything for him.

But you know, it would be nice to have a little support at a time like this. Does she not get how hard this is for him? Even though she doesn’t even know about half the shit that’s been going on in Sean’s life—which is  _ really _ fucking rare, for them—how can she not understand that...this is his first Thanksgiving without Dad. Their first Thanksgiving apart. Everything is different, and Sean has never been that great with change.

It’s only been a month since Dad died, but it feels like an entire lifetime. It feels like Sean has lived, died, reincarnated as a cactus, died again, and reincarnated, this time as a shitty human being with a shitty life and and a shitty family living in a shitty town in a shitty country.

He may as well just go back to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Apparently Kent plays a mean piano. Who knew?

Sean is sprawled out on the floor of Kent’s bedroom, gazing at the ceiling dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars (which is so cliché but  _ so _ Kent) and listening to Kent playing some classical piece on an electronic keyboard. Sean isn’t a huge fan of classical music, but as far as music to stare at the ceiling to, it’s pretty nice. Relaxing.

Kent’s room is as clean-cut and pristine as the man himself, with light greyish-blue walls that are completely bare—save for a cross mounted above his dresser and one singular Elliott Smith poster, haphazardly plastered to the wall, slightly askew, with scotch tape. Sean likes to think that’s Kent’s version of a rebellion.  _ Take that, I’m going to put up a poster and it’s going to be as straight as I am. _

Kent finishes the song, and Sean can tell this is where he should applaud, but that feels weird to do while lying on your friend’s bedroom floor. So instead, he just says, “Dude that was awesome. What was that?”

“You’ve  _ seriously _ never heard  _ Claire de Lune _ before?”

Sean shakes his head, which is kinda awkward because of his position on the floor.

“Ah,” Kent says. “Well, it’s like, my favorite piece of music ever.”

“It was kinda sad...but sweet. Sorta...gah, what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Melancholy?”

Sean snaps his fingers. “Melancholy! That’s it! It makes me think of like, looking out at an old swing, like one of those ones hooked onto a tree or something, that you see in old movies and shit sometimes? And like, just sitting there watching the sunset and thinking about...life. Memories. Nostalgia.”

“That’s certainly an interesting interpretation,” Kent says.

Sean sits up. “Why? What’s it supposed to mean?”

Kent shrugs. “Iunno. It can mean whatever you want it to mean, I guess.”

“What does it mean to you?”

Kent smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He spins around in his chair, and absently plays a couple notes on the piano—the notes from the melody of  _ Claire de Lune _ , Sean recognizes. “I guess,” he says. “Pretty much the same as you. Nostalgic. Melancholy. Kinda sad.”

“Pfft. Nah, man. C’mon. You can’t just say the same thing as me. What do  _ you _ think?”

Sean waits for a response, but Kent just sort of stares off into space, fingers unconsciously keying the melody again, until finally, he sighs. “My dad was a huge Debussy fan.”

“Oh,” Sean says. He sits back against the foot of Kent’s bed, his soft, neatly-tucked comforter brushing the back of his neck. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s cool,” Kent says. “It’s good to talk about him sometimes. With somebody that isn’t just...my mom or my pastor.”

Sean tries to understand, but he can’t. He can’t wrap his head around the idea of talking about Dad yet. Anytime he tries, he just gets sad. And Sean is so fucking sick of feeling sad. But still, he listens. He lets Kent talk about his dad, how he was a huge classical music buff, and once took him to see the Oregon Symphony play Holst’s  _ The Planets _ when he was twelve.

“He and my mom would even go out to see operas in Portland sometimes. They brought me along once, but I got so bored I fell asleep.”

“God, I’d be right there with you. It’s hard enough sitting through a musical where I can actually  _ understand _ what they’re singing.”

“For real,” Kent says, laughing. “Like, the opera was in English, I think, but even then I couldn’t figure out what they were saying because the way they sang it just sounded like wailing to me.” Then he adds, “But don’t knock musicals, man.  _ Dear Evan Hansen _ became my  _ life _ for a few months.”

“I think I’ve heard of that one,” Sean says. “It’s about a kid who kills himself, right?”

“Yeah, and this guy, Evan, writes a letter to himself as a therapy assignment, because he has really bad anxiety and...you know what, it would take too long to explain. We should just watch it sometime.”

“Dude, I’m broke, I can’t afford to go see a whole-ass musical.”

Kent laughs. “No, silly. We’ll just watch it online. That’s the only way I’ve seen it.”

Sean grins. “Never would have peg-legged you for a pirate.”

Kent curves his index finger to look like a hook. “ _ Arrgh. _ ” Then, they both start laughing. “Peg-legged? Really?”

“Shut up, it sounded better in my head.”

Eventually, Kent manages to wear Sean down by playing some of the soundtrack, and convinces him to watch it with him, but since it’s already getting late, it’ll have to wait for another day.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” Kent says as he walks Sean to the door.

Sean slips on his boots and shrugs on his jacket. “You don’t have to keep saying that, dude. You’re my friend, that’s what friends do. They hang out with each other.”

Kent’s cheeks go red, and he rubs the back of his neck. “R-right, yeah,” he says. “But, uhh...I had fun. Sorry for just...talking your ear off about my dad.”

“It’s cool, dude,” Sean laughs. “Like you said, it’s good to talk about it. My ear’s always down to be talked off.” He shakes his head. “Wait, that sounds weird.”

“Haha. Same to you, though. Like...if you ever want to talk about your dad—”

“I don’t,” Sean cuts him off. Kent jumps.

“S-sorry.”

Shit, he didn’t mean it like that. “No worries. I’ll text you when I get home.”

As Sean is heading out the door, Kent moves forward somewhat awkwardly, like he was going to go in for a hug, but stopped himself. Which is a good call, because Sean isn’t so sure they’re at the “hugging” level of their friendship yet. Still, he offers Kent an easy smile before heading out down the street.

One of the good things about Beaver Creek being such a small town is that pretty much everything is within walking distance. Kent’s house is only about a fifteen minute walk from Claire’s. Even Main Street—which houses the used bookstore Sean got his copy of  _ Chupacabras from Outer Space _ at, and is now setting up for the town’s Christmas market (Jesus Christ, guys, Thanksgiving  _ just _ ended)—is only a short distance away. In the summer, Sean could easily jog down there, maybe check out that ice cream shop, or hang out with friends.

You know. If he  _ has _ any. Other than Kent, that is, who honestly seems to be the only person his age in town worth giving a shit about. Sean shoots him a text as he hikes up the driveway to let him know he’s home safe. Kent replies faster than lightning, like he had the thread open already, waiting.  _ Good. :) I’ll see you tomorrow at school. _

_ Yep. C u. _

You’d be hard-pressed to get Sean to admit it, but the fact that Kent texts in complete sentences with decent grammar is honestly kind of endearing. Sean isn’t the type to go full text-lingo, because what’s the point in that when you have a full keyboard? But even still, his texts with his friends, namely Lyla, are filled with abbreviations and acronyms and stuff. It’s kinda dumb, but Sean likes that Kent is so...refined. In a very sixteen-year-old boy kinda way, though. Like, Sean wouldn’t expect to see him at a high-class gala or anything, but he’s soft and kind and listens to classical music and actually managed to convince Sean to watch a broadway musical. 

Is that weird to think about a guy?

Sean isn’t in the house for more than seconds when he’s assaulted by a frantic little brother, charging down the stairs and beaming up at him with excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Sean! Sean! Sean! Guess what?”

“Dude, I’m barely in the door! At least let me take off my coat first before you tackle me!” Sean laughs and squeezes past Daniel, taking off his scarf and hanging it up on the hall tree. “What’s got you so pumped?”

“Grandma said we’re going on vacation next weekend!”

Sean freezes, his foot in midair, his boot halfway off his foot. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah! She said we’re gonna go see the Robot Castle Museum! Isn’t that cool?”

Fuck. He and Lyla were supposed to hang out this weekend. She said she was gonna take off work and everything. “That’s supercool,  _ enano _ ,” Sean says, resuming his disrobement, trying to sound excited as he slips off his coat and hangs it up. He may not want to go on this dumb vacation, especially if it means not getting to spend time with Lyla, but Daniel’s happy, so he should at least play along.

Daniel giddily runs back upstairs, and Sean drops the façade. Claire is in the kitchen, stirring some bell peppers and beef in a skillet, and she greets Sean as he walks in. “How was your time with your friend?” she asks.

“Fine,” Sean says. “Why didn’t you tell me we were going on vacation?”

“Well, we just made the reservations last night. We figured, with all of the excitement surrounding what happened at Thanksgiving, you boys...all of us deserved a little break. I made reservations for a hotel, you boys can go swimming in the indoor pool, we can visit that...Robot Castle thing Daniel has been pestering me about, I saw a couple nice art museums we could stop at along the way. I bet you would like that.”

He would. Under any other circumstances, he would love to go to a museum. Sean was the one kid in elementary school who actually enjoyed those museum field trips in grade school. It’s what taught him to love art. But does it have to be  _ this _ weekend?

Since Lyla couldn’t come over this weekend, he was really looking forward to her upcoming visit. He hasn’t seen his best friend in almost a month and it’s killing him inside. He needs one of Lyla’s trademarked hugs, those ones where she seems to grow to ten times her size, just so she can wrap you in her arms like a mama bear protecting her cub.

“I, um...I actually had plans this weekend.”

Claire clicks her tongue, and looks over at Sean with concern. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t know! I can cancel the reservations if you want? We can reschedule.”

She’s giving him an out, and he could totally take it. He should take it. But Daniel was so excited about this trip, it would be a real dick move to take that from him now. The kid deserves this. Hell, maybe Sean deserves this, too.

Okay, that’s a lie. Sean doesn’t deserve shit with the way he’s been acting recently. But maybe he needs it. A chance to just...relax.

“Nah,” he says. “It’s fine. You already made the reservations. It’d just be a hassle to cancel ‘em at this point.”

“Well,” Claire says, returning to her stir-fry, “if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Sean says, even though he’s not.

He never is.

# # #

At dinner that night, Daniel won’t shut up about their vacation. “I can’t wait to see all the robots!” he chitters. “And it’ll be so cool to go swimming, even though it’ll be December. What are you most excited about, Sean?”

Sean finishes chewing the bite of stir fry he just put in his mouth, swallows, and says, “It’ll be cool to just chillax in the hotel.”

“We even got you boys your own room,” Claire says. “You’ll have to share a bed again, but I figured that would be preferable to having to deal with Grandpa’s snoring.”

“Hey! I do not snore!” Stephen says with a chuckle.

“Oh, please. I’m surprised you haven’t once woken the boys up with your yodeling.”

He actually has, once, woken Sean up after moving into his new room. It’s closer to Claire and Stephen’s room so Sean could in fact hear him snoring, but he just put on his music and went back to sleep.

But yeah, having to deal with it in the same room? No thanks. Sean has no idea how Claire can do it.

Claire goes over their tentative itinerary: they’ll leave Friday evening after school, drive up north and check into the hotel. Then, Saturday morning Stephen will take Daniel to the Robot Castle—which Sean still has no idea what that is besides the fact that it is a castle for robots—while Sean and Claire head to the University of Oregon Art Museum.

Sean will admit, as excited as he is to go to the museum, he’s uneasy about the idea of leaving Daniel alone with Stephen. The kid’s gotten a lot better at handling his powers, but he’s still a kid, and his powers are linked to his emotions. So far, it’s only been negative emotions—fear, anger, sorrow, grief—that have caused outbursts, but who knows what else could trigger something in him? Maybe he’ll get so excited upon seeing all of the robots that he makes them explode on accident. It’s a scary thought, and not one that Sean wants to have while he’s on vacation.

But he’s just gotta trust Daniel to control himself. Sean isn’t going to be around forever to keep him grounded. Eventually, the kid is going to have to learn to fend for himself.

After dinner, Sean paces his room, his phone in hand, anxiously trying to work up the nerve to call Lyla and cancel their plans for the weekend. Now that he’s actually granted the opportunity to reflect on it, he’s really bummed that he can’t hang out with her. She was gonna come up Saturday morning, and he would “show her around town.” And by that, he really means that they would park her car in a secluded parking lot and Sean would get to smoke his first joint since Dad died.

It’s not that he was only excited to see her because she’d be bringing weed, though. Like that’s part of it, for sure, but he just really misses his best friend. And who knows  _ when _ he’ll get another chance to see her. It’s just so  _ fucking _ frustrating that, only a month ago, he was talking with Lyla about the fact that distance could never tear them apart. And yet here they are, hundreds of miles away from each other, physically and emotionally.

He hits  _ Call _ and cautiously places the phone to his ear. It rings for a short while, and then, “Yooooooo Diaz! Just got word from my boss about my time off this weekend! I am _ so _ ready to see you, dude. It’s been ages.”

Great. Cool. Excellent. That’s not going to make him feel worse about canceling at all.

“Hey, yeah, about that…”

“Don’t go flaking on me now, Sean!” Lyla says. “I miss you!”

Oh, like Lyla hasn’t been flaking on Sean for weeks? Sure.

“I miss you too,” Sean says.  _ More than you know. _ “But...Claire sprung a surprise vacation on us out of nowhere and...I mean, Daniel’s really excited about it, so—”

“Dude, say no more. That sounds like a fun time. Go enjoy yourself with your family. We can hang out some other time.”

Sean breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. “You’re the fucking best. Are you aware of how  _ best _ you are?”

Lyla laughs. “I have something of an idea.”

It feels so good to talk to Lyla again, even over the phone, that it almost makes up for the fact that they won’t be seeing each other for at least 2 weeks now. Almost.

Maybe he should use this opportunity to tell her about Thanksgiving, about Karen. Honestly, it’s hard to believe Sean has gone this long without telling her already. They used to talk every day, so often that it was easy to keep each other in the loop of everything going on in their respective lives. But now, Sean and Lyla don’t see each other at school, they can’t hang out at each other’s houses after getting off the bus.

It scares Sean how much they’re drifting apart. Like, were they only friends out of convenience? Because they lived near each other? Went to school together? Now that it’s inconvenient for them to hang out, are they still best friends?

But of course, that’s just Sean’s mind running wild.

Right?

“So tell me about shit, dude,” Lyla says. “What have you been up to? Are you adjusting to life in small town America?”

Sean huffs. “Yeah, about as well as water can adjust to oil. I’m literally one of like, two non-white kids at my school.”

“I mean, white kids aren’t  _ all _ bad. Eric is pretty cool.”

“Is he, though?” Sean jokes.

“Touche.”

“But no for real it’s…” Sean takes a deep breath. “I don’t fucking know man, I’m kinda miserable, but I’m...hanging in there. I actually met this guy—”

“Oh, hang on a second,” Lyla interrupts. “Sorry.” Sean hears her calling out to her parents, and then saying something to them in Korean. After a short back-and-forth, she groans, and Sean can hear her putting the phone back up to her ear. “Sorry, dude. Dad was calling me for help with something. He’s been helping me organize more protests.”

“Yeah, I get you,” Sean says flatly. “I’ll talk to you later then, I guess.”

“Sorry. Love you, Sean.”

“Love you too, Lyla.”

She makes a kissing sound through the phone, and Sean half-rolls his eyes. Then she hangs up, and Sean has to take a deep, slow breath.

Maybe he just shouldn’t tell her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just as a warning, this chapter takes one of the characters in a direction that some people might not agree with. Like, don't worry too much, you know how much I love these characters and it should be obvious that I would never keep the character going down that path, but I figured I should warn some of you so you don't get blindsided.

Some people just don’t know how to take a hint.

It’s Monday, the first day back at school after Thanksgiving. But apparently, the Rumor Mill doesn’t take holiday breaks, because it is immediately obvious by all of the stares and snickers Sean gets as he walks into school that  _ everybody _ now knows about him and Kent. Well, they think they do, despite the fact that there’s nothing  _ to _ know.

All of this, Sean believes, is the reason why Madelyn keeps trying to talk to him today. Seriously, she will not leave him alone. She tried to talk to him in first period, before the bell rang, but Sean just plugged in his earbuds and pretended not to notice her. She came up to him after class, but he managed to masterfully weave his way through the other students and out of the classroom before she could reach him.

And now, she’s approaching him at lunch, where he has no practical means of escape. She’s clever, that Madelyn.

Kent sits across from him, absently chewing on some baby carrots, and he catches Sean’s eyeroll when Madelyn starts making her way over. He turns around in his chair, and his face flushes when he recognizes her, whipping his head back around and diverting his focus intensely into his carrots.

“Relax,” Sean whispers to him, reaching out to touch his hand before he comes to his senses and pulls away. Madelyn was there when her asshole friend (boyfriend?) Kevin was picking on Kent, and she just stood by and watched it happen, which, in Sean’s mind, makes her just as guilty as Kevin.

“Hey,” Madelyn says, not meeting Sean’s eye as she approaches their table. “Can I...talk to you?”

Sean glowers at her. “Why?”

“Just…” She rubs at her arm. “Please?”

With a small roll of the eyes, Sean gives in. “Fine.” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a  _ little _ curious as to what’s got Miss Modern Sensibilities’ panties in a twist.

Madelyn’s eyes dart over to Kent. “Um...can I talk to you... _ alone _ ?”

“Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of him.”

She looks nervous, but doesn’t push it any further. “Um, so...I wanted to apologize.”

“For?” She’s got plenty of things to apologize for. She’s gonna have to be more specific.

“For, um…” She sighs. “So, I know when we first met, I may have said something that was...insensitive.” That’s putting it lightly. “But I’d never have said those things if I knew you were gay. Honest.”

And Bingo was his name-o. Sean knew it’d have something to do with his apparent romance with Kent Mathers. He leans back and smirks. “Oh, is that right?”

Madelyn nods. “Honest, I  _ really _ don’t have a problem with gay people.”

Kent scoffs-laughs, and Madelyn shoots him a telling aggravated glare.

“Really, I didn’t even mean what I said. I was just...you were new and I wanted you to like me, so I just kind of said what my friends would usually say.”

“Why do you think saying homophobic shit would make me like you?” Sean says, crossing his arms.

Madelyn gives a half-hearted shrug. “I dunno, it’s just...that’s the kind of stuff people around here say to get a laugh.” She turns to Kent. “N-no offense.”

How the fuck is he  _ not _ supposed to take offense to that? Kent just looks away and continues nibbling on a carrot stick.

“Look, Madelyn. I’ll let you in on a little secret…” Sean leans forward, and Madelyn leans in closer. “I’m not actually gay.”

Kent stops chewing for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable. Madelyn’s eyes bug out of her head, and it’s almost cartoonishly enjoyable, watching her shock and discomfort. Sean almost wants to laugh, but that might be too Disney villain even for him. “Wait, really?”

Sean nods. “I just stood up for Kent ‘cause it was the right thing to do. Doesn’t matter if he’s gay, straight, or whatever. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. And if you actually got to know him, you’d realize he’s actually super awesome.” Sean catches a smile from Kent, who still refuses to look up.

“W-we were just kidding around!”

“Bullshit.”

Madelyn scoffs. “I don’t know what more you want from me, Sean. I’m trying to apologize.”

“Are you?” Sean says. “Because all I’m hearing are a bunch of excuses.”

“Whatever,” Madelyn says. And it’s kinda shitty, but Sean feels an odd sense of pride and accomplishment as she storms off.

Once she’s gone, Kent finally looks up from his lunch, and he’s smiling, gently. “Did you really mean all that?” he asks. “Like, the part about me being awesome?”

“‘Course I did, dude. You  _ are _ awesome. The others just don’t see it.”

Kent returns his attention to his food, but Sean swears he catches the faintest glimpse of a blush before he looks away. “She’s not all bad, you know.”

“Who? Prom queen? Seems like your archetypal mean girl to me. Like Regina George but with fewer secrets in her hair.”

“Nah,” Kent says with a shrug. “She used to be cool. She and I go way back actually. We were never  _ super _ close, but we used to hang out back in middle school.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Yeah, we were both on the debate team. We all used to go over to her house after competitions. Her mom would order pizza, and we’d all just...chill.” Kent gets this wistful look on his face, like he’s letting himself swim in the nostalgia.

“So what happened?” Sean asks.

Kent just looks up, gives Sean a glance. When Sean doesn’t seem to pick up on whatever it is he’s implying, Kent sighs and explains anyway. “It was after I came out. I stopped getting invited over after debate, and she always gave me these lame excuses. Like, ‘My sister has the flu, so we can’t have anybody over,’ or, ‘My parents are going out tonight, so I have to babysit.’ But I could tell something was up. Turns out it was all a lie, and the team was meeting behind my back. They just didn’t invite me anymore. Apparently her mom ‘didn’t feel comfortable’ having me over.”

Kent says all of this with a half-hearted eyeroll, but Sean can see he’s getting a little misty-eyed. Sean leans forward in his chair again.

“Shit, dude. That sucks.”

Kent shrugs. “It’s whatever. I should’ve expected that reaction.”

“Hey, no, man. That’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to lose all your friends for coming out. That’s...beyond shitty.”

Kent bites his lip and looks away. “Thanks, Sean. It...it actually means a lot to hear that.”

Sean smiles, and Kent smiles back, even though he won’t meet Sean’s eyes. And in a weirdly intimate moment of empathy, Sean decides to reach across the table and put his hand over Kent’s. “Of course, man. Any time.”

The lunch bell rings, and Sean gathers his things and throws out the remains of his lunch. He and Kent walk to class like usual, but Kent seems distracted the whole way there.

# # #

“What’d you get for number 16?” Kent asks. He’s sitting cross-legged on Sean’s bed, while Sean aimlessly spins around in his desk chair. 

He comes to a halt and looks at his notebook. “43.”

“I got 53.”

Sean groans. “What am I doing wrong? Why does this shit just not make sense to me?”

Suddenly, there’s a wild Kent leaning over his shoulder. The dude has some quiet fucking feet, only aided by the fact that Claire makes them take their shoes off inside. But even still, Sean can’t walk across his room without hearing the floor creak. Is Kent just that graceful?

Kent’s head is like, right on his shoulder, though. It’s weirdly intimate in a slightly uncomfortable way.

“You multiplied wrong. Twelve times six is 72, not 62.”

Sean puts his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I was that fucking stupid.”

“Hey, don’t call yourself stupid, Sean. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, but this is like fourth grade shit, dude. I shouldn’t be doing math on a fourth grade fucking level.”

“Dude, you’re not. You’re just having an off day, is all.”

“Do I ever even have any  _ on _ days?”

Kent helps Sean through the next few problems and, okay, Sean will admit he’s a good tutor. But he can’t help but remember Jenn, and how she was tutoring him in math before his life went to shit. Man, things were so much simpler back then, when the biggest worry he had was whether or not a cute girl would like him back.

And, while Kent is probably a bit better of a tutor, Sean can’t really space out and imagine himself kissing Kent like he did with Jenn.

Ugh, now he’s picturing it. That’s weird.  _ Ugh, _ why?

Sean is squeezing his eyes shut and trying to shake off the image, but Kent doesn’t seem to notice.

Kent leans over Sean’s desk in that very Teacher-way, resting on the desk with his elbows and leaning forward from so far back he’s vertebra is almost completely horizontal. He’s halfway through helping Sean work out the next problem when there’s a knock at the door.

“Sean?” comes Claire’s voice from the other end. “Why is this door locked?”

“Uhhh, because it has a lock, and I wanted some privacy?” He gets up and opens the door for Claire, who’s holding the hamper from the bathroom, which is overflowing with clothes.

“I’m going to get some laundry started while dinner is cooking. Do you have any—” She looks past Sean and catches sight of Kent, who’s now leaning back on the desk instead of over it. She forces a smile. “Oh, hello, Kent.”

“Hi, Mrs. Reynolds,” Kent says.

Claire stares for a second, lost in her train of thought, before shaking herself back and asking, “Do you have any dirty clothes you would like washed?”

The last thing Sean wants is his grandmother touching his underwear. No thanks. “That’s okay, Claire. I can do my own laundry.”

“Alright,” Claire says absently, once again looking over Sean’s shoulder. “What are you boys up to?”

“Kent’s helping me with my math homework,” Sean says. “He can stay for dinner, right?”

“Oh, no, no, it’s alright,” Kent says. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Yes, of course he can stay for dinner,” Claire says. “Alright, uhh...I’m going to get this laundry started. I’ll call you when dinner is ready, and...Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you...keep the door open when you have…” Her eyes dart over to Kent. “...guests?”

Sean cocks an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

“Just…” Claire purses her lips. “Just keep your door open, Sean. That’s all I’m asking.”

Sean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

Claire shoots one last glance over his shoulder, before offering a smile and heading downstairs. Of course, as soon as she’s out of view, Sean quietly closes his door once again.

When he turns back to continue working on homework, Kent is staring at the floor, his face pale.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” he says, in an obvious lie. “Yeah, it’s just...I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That...Keeping your door open, it’s...probably because of me.”

“What? No way, dude. That’s just Claire being overbearing as always.”

“Maybe…” Kent says. “But it wouldn’t be the first time that...that I’ve had that happen. One of my friends from freshman year, Klain, his mom made us keep the door open, too. They think...that I’m gonna corrupt their sons or something. It’s stupid but...what are you gonna do?”

Sean furrows his brow. “That’s bullshit, dude. I’m gonna have a talk with Claire.”

“N-no, it’s okay. Really. I’ll just…” Kent sighs, and starts picking up his things. “I’m just gonna head out. Thanks for having me over, Sean.”

Sean tries to stop him, but Kent is too fast, and is already taking off down the hall. He catches him at the door, slipping on his boots and his jacket.

“Dude, don’t go,” Sean says. “I’ll talk to her, it’s okay.”

Kent zips up his jacket and starts putting on his gloves. “Thanks, Sean, but don’t worry about it. I need to get home anyway.”

Once again, Sean tries to protest, but Kent stops him, and once he’s all suited up, he awkwardly waves good-bye to Sean and takes off down the street.

As Sean watches his friend disappear from view, anger boils, bubbling up from within him. What the  _ fuck _ ? He knew that Claire was religious, and he probably should have known she’d be homophobic, given the town she lives in, but...Kent is his friend, his  _ only _ friend in Beaver Creek. Without him, Sean would be entirely and truly alone in this world. He grips his fist, heads towards the laundry room to give Claire a piece of his mind, but his anger dissipates completely when he sees Daniel and Chris, playing with Hotwheels on the kitchen table.

“Oh, hey man,” Sean says, giving Chris a fist-bump. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“He came over after school today,” Daniel says excitedly, like this wasn’t obvious by the fact that Chris is literally sitting right next to him. “We played Minecraft together and then hung out in the Flying Fortress.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play, Superwolf.”

It’s nice seeing Daniel so happy, especially given how fucking miserable Sean is. Daniel is good at making friends wherever he goes. Sean would have to be a total asshole to fuck it up for him by causing a scene. So he tries to let it go. He can talk to Claire later.

“So...what are you guys playing?” Sean says, sitting down at the edge of the table.

“ _ Midnight Racer _ ,” Chris exclaims. “I’m playing as the cool and heroic  _ Mister Midnight _ —” he points to his dark purple racecar, “—and Daniel is his partner and rival,  _ The Full Moon Racer _ .”

Daniel excitedly shows off his sleek, marble white toy car. “And we’re competing in this race to see who gets to face the evil  _ Mantroidmobile _ ! We still need someone to play the villain! Do you wanna?”

“Oh, so because I’m the  _ big, bad, brother _ , I have to play the villain?” Sean says, rolling his eyes and smiling. “But yeah, I’ll play with you guys. Where’s my car?”

Chris hands him his car. It’s slightly bigger than the other two, clearly from a different set entirely, and is pitch black with bat-like wings and bright red racing stripes. It’s kinda cool, actually. Sean’s not that into cars, but he can still appreciate a bitchin’ design when he sees one.

Daniel and Chris guide their cars along the kitchen counter, imitating motor engine sounds with their mouths. Sean can’t figure out what exactly the race track is supposed to be, because they’re both just zipping around doing loops and zigzags, and neither of them are following the same path as the other to any extent. Where’s even the finish the line? How is anybody supposed to win this race?

But the boys are letting their imagination do all of the work. Occasionally, Chris will remark about an obstacle in their way, like a fallen tree or a gap in the road, neither of which has any physical presence on the counter.

“Oh no!” Chris shouts. “It’s the evil Maintroidmobile! He’s come to sabotage the race!” Then, when Sean doesn’t move, Chris adds, in a hushed tone, “Sean, that’s your cue.”

“Huh? Oh!” He grabs his car and slowly, menacingly, drives it up the counter. He puts on his best, most cringe-worthy evil voice and says, “Bwahahaha! It is I, the evil Mantroid...mobile. Uhh, I have come to sabotage this race!”

“Dude,” Daniel says. “That’s exactly what Chris just said.”

“Okay, you try coming up with something better.”

“I will!” Daniel sticks his tongue out at Sean. “The evil Mantroidmobile stands atop a cliff, his engine growling like a tiger stalking its prey. With a maniacal laugh, a laser beam shoots from his headlights, hitting the path directly in front of our heroes! The ground begins to crumble, but it’s too late to slam on the breaks! Our heroes go toppling over the newly formed cliff to their  _ dooms! _ ”

Damn. Daniel’s actually pretty good at this. Like, he would make a killer GM. Maybe Sean should introduce him to DnD?

Chris and Daniel both direct their cars towards the edge of the counter, making mock screams and cries as they send their cars over the “cliff.”

“But suddenly!” Daniel starts. He lets go of his car as it flies off the counter, and he sticks out his arm. Both his car and Chris’s halt in midair, bobbing slightly as they hover four feet above the ground. “The Full Moon racer activates his anti-gravity traction ray! His car starts to hover in mid-air! This would be the perfect opportunity to steal his win, if he lets Mister Midnight fall to his doom, the race is his, and he will go on to face the evil Mantroidmobile!”

“Dude!” Sean says, grabbing Daniel’s arm and pushing it down onto the counter. The cars fall from the air and land on the ground with a clatter. “What the hell are you thinking?!”

“What?” Daniel says. He tries to wrestle his arm free, but he’s just a scrawny nine-year old, so Sean has to let go. “It’s just Chris, and he already knows!”

“Yeah,” Sean whispers. “But what if Claire or Stephen were to come in and see you, huh? How would you explain the flying cars in their kitchen?”

“I...um…”

“Exactly. You need to  _ think _ about this shit,  _ enano _ . You haven’t been pulling crap like this at school or anything, have you?”

“Nuh uh!” Daniel says, looking up at Sean with pleading eyes. “Promise!”

Sean’s not convinced. He looks over at Chris, whose inability to meet Sean’s eyes gives him away. “Bullshit. We talked about this, dude. What if somebody sees you?”

“So what if somebody sees me?” Daniel pouts. “I can just blow them up. Get rid of any witnesses.” His face gets grim and he looks at the ground, holding his arm where Sean had grabbed him. “Just like I did with that cop.”

Holy shit. Holy  _ shit. _ Did Daniel really just fucking say that? Sean would be furious with him...if he wasn’t suddenly fucking terrified. He, cautiously, gently, puts his hands on Daniel’s shoulders and squats down to eye level.

“Daniel, I know you don’t mean that. You’re a good kid. You would never...hurt somebody on purpose.”

Daniel shrugs himself free of Sean’s grip. “You don’t know me, Sean. Maybe I would hurt somebody on purpose. Maybe I  _ wanted _ to kill that police officer.”

“ _ Enano! _ ” Sean says harshly. “That’s enough!”

“Whatever.” Daniel pushes past Sean and runs upstairs, slamming the door to his room behind him.

There’s a moment, where Chris and Sean just stand there, staring at each other, like,  _ did that really just happen? _ Chris’ face is wrought with concern, fear, and anxiety, and Sean presumes that his face looks much the same.

“I should...I should go talk to him,” Sean says, but Chris gets up and stops him.

“No, let me do it. I think I’ll be able to get through to him a bit more.”

“Oh,” Sean says, reality sinking in on him. “Y-you think?”

Chris nods. “Yeah. He’s...he’s kind of scared of you.”

“Me?!” Sean is taken aback. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? In fact, it  _ is _ the other way around right now. Sean is, admittedly, terrified of his little brother. The look in his eyes before he stomped off, it was...not the little brother Sean had come to know and...tolerate. It was darker, angrier. And yeah, Sean is scared of Daniel, scared he might hurt him or somebody else, of course, but…

What Sean is most afraid of is the thought that he somehow fucked him up, that it’s his fault Daniel is acting this way. He thinks back to the day Chris discovered Daniel’s powers, how Daniel was quick to throw a lie at Claire, without hesitation. Sean’s been lying to authority figures for years, but Daniel...Maybe Sean should have seen it coming, then, should have said something.

But Daniel...scared of him? What the hell did he do?

Chris shoots Sean a look of uncertainty, before rushing up the stairs and knocking on Daniel’s door.

Sean sits down at the kitchen table, sits with his thoughts. After a while, when Daniel and Chris still don’t come down, Sean gives up. He heads back upstairs to finish his math homework, lingering in front of Daniel’s room before heading back to his own.

They’re leaving on Friday, and if he doesn’t want Claire to hound him about homework while they’re on vacation, he might as well try to get as much of it done as he possibly can before that.

He hopes the confusing symbols in his math book will help distract him, but try as he might, he can’t get the image of Daniel’s angry, twisted face out of his mind.

Sean needs to do better. Needs to  _ be _ better. For Daniel.

But if he’s gonna do that, he’s gonna need help. But to ask for help, he needs to tell  _ somebody _ about Daniel’s powers, and the only person he trusts with that is Lyla, but she’s way out in Seattle, and having a conversation about your brother’s secret supernatural abilities is not something you want to have over the phone, especially with Big Brother always watching.

So, maybe there’s somebody else he can trust. Somebody here, in Beaver Creek.

He picks up his phone, dials Kent’s number.

“Hey,” comes Kent’s voice as he picks up. It sounds...weird. Strained.

“Have you been crying?” Sean asks without thinking.

“Wh-what? No,” Kent says, but he’s a shit liar, so Sean hears right through him.

“Dude, I’m so sorry about Claire. I...I promise I’ll talk to her.” He’d meant to earlier, but then the whole Daniel fiasco happened, and it slipped his mind. Maybe that’s a good thing. Sean was so angry, that he likely would have ended up saying something he’d regret.

“It’s fine,” Kent says, in a while that strongly suggests that it is  _ not _ fine.

But this isn’t why he called. “Are you...free after dinner? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Um...sure. I mean, I can talk right now if you want?”

“No, it’s...it’s not the kind of thing I want to say over the phone.” Don’t sound too paranoid, dude. Don’t mention the government listening in. “Just...meet me at the park at 8? And...I know this is gonna sound weird but...can you leave your phone at home?”

“Um…” Kent hesitates. “Sure, I guess? Isn’t your curfew 8, though?”

Sean scoffs. “I really don’t give a shit what Claire thinks right now. I’ll sneak out if I have to.”

“Dude…”

“It’s important,” Sean assures him. “Just...please.”

Kent is quiet for a second, and then Sean hears a long, deep sigh. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be there. No phone. Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”

“When I get there. Promise.”

“Is everything okay, Sean?”

“I...don’t know, actually. I’m...I’ll tell you all about it when we meet.”

Another pause from Kent. “Fine. Okay. I’ll see you at eight.”

“Thank you,” Sean sighs, relieved.

“Yeah, man. Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there may or may not be a new chapter next week (10/31/2020). I'm working on a Halloween special and since that's been taking up all my time I haven't had as much time to get ahead in this story as I would like. So the Halloween fic might end up replacing next week's chapter just to give me a little bit of room to get ahead. Hope that's okay! The Halloween fic is a LONG one so you'll have a lot to look forward to hahaha.
> 
> Thanks again to my betas, Bracco and Aneroid. Y'all are the best <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! I didn't realize how much a cliffhanger that last chapter was lol. And sorry the Halloween fic isn't finished yet, either. I had hoped to be able to get that done the first week of November, but, well...More on that in the End Notes.

Sean has walked past the park a few times, when walking home from Kent’s or on his downtown, but he’s never actually paid much attention to it. It’s just your average park: some bushes, a bench, some play structures for kids. All of it is a bit too small for Daniel now, but a couple years ago, Dad probably would have forced him to take him here to play. And Sean would have moaned and groaned, but he would have done it, because, when push comes to shove, he still loves his brother more than anything in the world.

Which is why his outburst today is frightening Sean. It’s just so unlike Daniel, and Sean wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he managed to fuck up Daniel just like he fucks up everything else.

Sean sits at the swingset, swaying absently, keeping his feet firmly in the dirt, because who knows if this rickety old thing could support his full weight. Anxiety cycles through him like the blood in his veins—usually it would be at this point that he would pull out his phone for a distraction, but he made a point to not bring it with him.

He’s not just being paranoid, right? About the whole...government surveillance thing? He remembers learning in history recently about the Patriot Act, how the government basically already has access to everything your phone sees, hears, and does. It all sounded a bit like something out of a dystopian novel or a bad spy movie, but Mr. Peterson was deadly serious about it.

Sean hasn’t spent much time thinking about what would happen if Daniel is discovered, but that’s by design. The first time he did, his mind went to some...dark places, where Sean would rather not return. But it might be time to ask himself the real questions: If Daniel is discovered by the wrong people, what would they do? Would they use him for their own purposes, whatever those may be? Would they dissect him to try and figure out why he can do what he does?

He shakes the thought of, pushing himself off the swing. No use sitting around thinking about creepy shit like that. He decides to take a walk while waiting for Kent. Checking his watch, it shows the time is just a little bit after eight. Where is he? Sean is starting to panic. Not because Kent is late, he’s probably just running behind, but just because...the words are on the tip of his tongue. He  _ needs _ to tell somebody.

The park is creepy as shit at night, though. It’s not even that late, but because the sun goes down at like, four, it’s practically a ghost town. A ghost...park. Sean swears he hears the sound of creaky gears, but it’s just the swing set, squeaking as the seat Sean was just at sways from the inertia.

But then he hears footsteps. Okay. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. It’s just Kent. Shakily, he turns his head in the direction of the footsteps.

Oh thank god. It is just Kent. His hands are stuffed deep inside his pockets, and his ears are covered with these giant fluffy orange earmuffs that are just  _ so _ Kent it’s almost adorable. Sean immediately relaxes. They meet each other halfway, and Kent cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Sean nods, despite himself. “Actually...I don’t know. Can...can we sit?”

They take a seat at the bench, and the main road is directly in front of them. There’s not many cars out right now, but every now and then one will drive by, its headlights filling the park with bright yellow light for the briefest of moments.

“What’s going on, Sean? Why the hell did you call me out here?”

Sean opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly the words dissipate on his tongue. Figures, as soon as he gets the chance, he has no fucking idea what to say. How the fuck do you tell your best friend, that you’ve really only been friends with for like, a week and a half, tops, something so...bizarre. And how do you do it without sounding like a lunatic?

“Kent, I’m...I’m scared,” he finds himself saying.

“You? Scared? Pft. As if.”

“No, really,” Sean says. He turns to face Kent, his expression bleak. “I’m...This is going to sound fucking crazy, okay, but you have to promise to trust me.”

Kent narrows his brow. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good, okay. Um…” He turns away again. Something about not saying it to his face makes this somewhat easier. “Um, you...you didn’t bring your phone right?”

“Of course not,” Kent says. “You asked me not to.”

A breath deflates Sean. Kent trusts him that much at least, it seems. Maybe he can tell him the truth.

“Like, I said, this is gonna sound...insane, but it’s true. I swear it.”

“Dude, just fucking  _ tell _ me.”

Sean smiles despite himself. Kent swearing is just kind of an inherently funny thing. He’s so proper all the time, so quiet, that it’s just such a jarring paradigm shift whenever he curses. Sean sucks in his lip to wipe off his smile. “So, you know that...the Incident in Seattle?”

Kent blinks. He leans away from Sean, as if taking in the whole picture, studying him. Then he leans back in, attentive. “Um...I’m aware, yes.”

“You know how the police have no idea what happened?”

“Yeah, they ruled it as some kind of gas leak or something right? An accident, triggered by the cop shooting…” He trails off, even though it’s way too late to avoid saying anything to directly remind Sean of Dad. Whatever, that doesn’t even matter right now.

“I know what happened. And it wasn’t a gas leak.”

Sean peeks back over at Kent’s face, illuminated under the streetlight placed on the path next to the bench. His eyes widen and his mouth hangs open, just a bit. “W...w-wait. Huh? You know what happened?” Sean nods. “So why haven’t you gone to the police?!”

“You really expect me to trust those fuckers after what they did to my dad?”

Kent sucks in his lips and looks down. “Good point, yeah.”

“Besides,” Sean continues. “I could never go to the police, even if I did trust them. Because...the reason the street was destroyed, the reason for that explosion, the one that...that killed the police officer…”

Sean hesitates. It’s like he can’t bring himself to say it.

“Yeah?”

He glances around, making sure nobody is around. Nobody appears to be within earshot, but it’s dark, so somebody could be hiding. Gah, no, Sean is just being paranoid. Just fucking say it, dude.

“It was my brother.”

“Your...your brother,” Kent repeats in disbelief. “That sweet little kid? What is he, like, nine? You’re telling me he caused an explosion that took out half your street?”

Sean just nods. “With...with his mind.”

“With his mind,” Kent repeats, with the same tone.

And Sean finds his heart sinking. “You don’t believe me,” he says.

“I…” Kent stalls. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking out his thoughts. Sean does that, too, sometimes. Particularly when he’s upset. “I don’t know, Sean. It does sound kind of...far-fetched. I mean, your brother has...telekinesis? And he blew up a street. Sean, I...I know you’re still grieving, are you sure this isn’t, like...your mind just coming up with something to help you cope? Put some kind of meaning to your dad’s death?”

“No, that’s...that’s not what this is!” Sean stands up, turning away and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Sean, wait.” Kent reaches out and grabs Sean by the arm, pulling him back into the seat. “Okay, let’s...let’s just say I do believe you. I could sense that there’s...more. Something else you wanna tell me.”

“Yeah, um…” Sean clears his throat. “I was talking with him today, with Daniel. And he...he said some pretty...pretty fucked up shit, I’m not even gonna sugar coat it.”

“Like what?”

So Sean tells him everything, about the floating cars, the outburst, the...concerning half-threats. And Kent, like a fucking champ, just sits and listens the whole time, even as Sean tangents and sidetracks with other bits of information—how they train, how he saved Chris and nobody else knows.

And when Sean is finally finished, Kent just sits there, with finger on his chin, soaking it all in, and the chill, early-December breeze whips at their faces. Then, finally, Kent blinks, drops his hand, and goes, “Holy shit, actually.”

“Right? It’s…I don’t know what to do, man. He’s...he’s not usually like this. He’s a good kid, a really good kid. Like, he gets on my nerves but I love him to death. And to top it all off, Chris said...said he’s scared of me.”

“ _ He’s _ scared of  _ you? _ ”

“That’s what I said!” Sean throws his hands up. “Like...what did I do? Am I...have I been a bad brother to him? I’m only trying to protect him…”

“I’m sure you haven’t been a bad brother, Sean. I...I really just don’t know what else to say, how to help you through this. This is  _ not _ what I was expecting when you called me out here.”

“It’s cool. I just—wait, what  _ were _ you expecting?”

Kent’s face goes pale, and he turns away. “Nothing! Just...not this.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

With a sigh, Kent’s face returns to normal, if a little sullen. “I want to, Sean. I...you’re my friend, and I want to trust you. But telekinesis? It all feels a little  _ Stranger Things. _ ”

“Yeah…”

They sit there in silence for a while, until the frigid air superchills Sean’s bones, and he can barely stand to be outside anymore. “I should head back,” he says, getting up from the bench.

Kent stands up with him. “Want me to walk you back?”

“No, it’s okay,” Sean says. “Not sure how...how excited Claire would be to see I snuck out to go see you.” This makes Kent blush, and Sean’s heart drops. “N-not that there’s anything...I swear, I’m gonna talk to her.”

“It’s okay, Sean,” Kent assures him, but Sean isn’t so sure. He smiles, but Sean knows a fake smile when he sees one—hell, he’s been plastering one on his own face for over a month now.

Sean is about to say something, but stops himself. Kent is just standing there, looking at him with an unreadable expression, and his breath smells strongly of peppermint.  _ Really _ strongly. Like, Jesus, he smells like what he imagines Santa’s workshop might smell like. “Dude,” he says. “Have you been chewing gum? Your breath smells, like...really minty.”

Kent’s cheeks darken and he chuckles nervously. “What? Um...Yeah, I guess.”

“Can I have a piece?” Sean asks. Maybe chewing gum will take his mind off of the shitstorm that is...his mind.

“I...chewed the last one before heading out,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, damn. Well...I’m gonna head home. Text me when you get back?”

Kent nods in agreement, and Sean flashes him a reassuring smile, though he’s not sure why  _ he’s _ the one trying to be reassuring. Kent returns the smile, and then Sean takes off down the street, breaking into a light jog to warm himself up.

He allows himself one brief glance back at Kent as he rounds a corner, but Kent is already gone.

# # #

Sneaking out after dinner wasn’t much of a hassle, since he used the cover of Chris going home to slip out the back door unnoticed. Coming home is an entirely different story. By the time Sean makes it home, it’s almost nine o’clock—he didn’t exactly rush home with everything on his mind, despite the fact that he was shivering. Daniel will still be up, for sure. Even though things between them ended up a bit rocky today, Sean doesn’t expect him to make a fuss if he catches Sean coming home late. Claire and Stephen, however, are anybody’s guess.

Claire and Stephen don’t exactly have a bedtime. Sean doesn’t either, technically, but on school nights like this, he usually ends up in bed by 11:30 anyway. But because of this, it’s a total crapshoot whether or not Claire will be in the living room, the dining room, her bedroom. And Stephen, well, he’ll either be in his study or upstairs playing with his trains, which means Sean is probably safe from him.

Sean heads around to the backdoor, figuring it would be quieter than trying to walk through the door with the giant, jingly wreath strapped to it, but it’s locked from the inside—because of course it is; Claire’s not a dumbass like Sean. Claire isn’t in the living room, though, which could either be a good sign or a bad one. She might be upstairs, or she might be in the dining room, working on a drawing. He doesn’t see her through the kitchen window, either, as he makes his way around. He peeks in through the dining room window, and sure enough, there she is. She’s facing away from the door, on the far side of the room, which is good. If Sean can get through the front door without making any noise, he should be in the clear.

Damn this jangly wreath, though. Whose idea was it to put jingle bells on a door decoration, anyway? Were they not thinking about rebellious teenagers who needed to sneak back into the house when they invented wreaths?

Sean opens the outer door quietly, careful to avoid the squeak it usually produces, and carefully holds the wreath in place while he slowly turns the knob.

Except it doesn’t budge. Locked. Right, that makes sense. He left through the backdoor, so he couldn’t leave the front door unlocked behind him. Sean gently releases the wreath and digs through his pockets for his keys. Except...they’re not there. Because of course they’re not. He was in such a rush, such a panic, that he left his keys on his desk, right beside the phone he made a point to leave behind.

Fuck. Maybe he can climb up the side of the house and sneak into his room? No, that won’t work, his bedroom window is right above the dining room, hanging over the porch. He could climb in through Daniel’s room, but that would probably freak the kid out, and...and Sean knows what happens when  _ enano _ gets freaked out. The only other options would be Stephen’s study or the upstairs bathroom, since the side door is always blocked by boxes of crap. Neither of those really seem like good options, so—

“Well,  _ excuse me _ , young man!”

Sean freezes, mid-thought. He looks up, and Claire is standing over him, hands on her hips, glaring down at him with the fear of God. Sean smiles sheepishly up at her, but Claire does not seem amused. He quickly tries to explain himself. “H-hey, Claire. I, um...I just went for a walk around the block, and it seems I forgot my keys…”

“Without telling us? We could have been worried sick!”

Claire steps aside and motions for Sean to follow her inside, which, thank fuck, because Sean was probably moments away from hypothermia. Okay, maybe he’s just being a little dramatic. “Yeah, sorry. I just...wanted some fresh air.”

Sean follows Claire into the kitchen, where she gets right to work making some tea. She must have seen how much he’s been shivering. Sean sits down at the counter, taking off his gloves and rubbing his hands together for friction.

“We have plenty of fresh air out in the backyard!” Claire says.

“Yeah, that’s where I left, but you guys locked the back door on me!”

Claire lets out a deep, disappointed sigh that chills Sean deeper than the cold outside ever could. “Sean, we’ve talked about this.” The kettle starts hissing, so Claire takes it off the burner and pours the hot water in a mug over a bag of green tea. “We’ve established your eight o’clock curfew, haven’t we? You  _ know _ you’re not supposed to go out late at night.”

“Eight o’clock isn’t even that late!” Sean argues. “Seriously, all my friends get to stay out until like, ten! Back in Seattle, Dad let me—”

“Well, I’m not your father, Sean, now am I?” Claire snaps.

Sean stops dead, his heat sinking into his chest. He feels tears begin to well up in his eyes, but he blinks them away. “No, you sure as shit aren’t.”

Claire deflates. “Sean, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” Sean sniffs and swivels his chair around, so he doesn’t have to look at her. Claire sets the mug of tea on the counter beside him and pulls out the chair next to his.

“Oh sweetheart,” she says gently. She puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs her off. “I know it’s hard for you, here, and I wish things were different. Your father was...your father is a good man, always has been. I’m ashamed that I wouldn’t let myself see it before it was too late.”

“He was the best,” Sean chokes out, turning around just a bit. Only so he can grab his tea, no other reason. Definitely not to look at Claire.

“And I know he had a rather…” Claire bobs her head, searching for the right word. “...A rather relaxed style of parenting. But sweetie, you’ve gotta remember. It’s been 30 years since I’ve been a real parent, and the last kid I had, well…” She trails off for a second, and Sean knows exactly what she means, but doesn’t say anything. She then shakes her head and continues her thought. “I’m trying to use what I’ve learned from that experience with you boys. I know I may seem strict on you sometimes—”

“Or all the time,” Sean mutters under his breath. Claire ignores him.

“—but I’m just trying to provide the structure that I know teenage boys like yourself need. I’m trusting you to make the important decisions yourself. That’s why I don’t drag you and your brother to church with us. Though, if you’d ever like to come with us…”

Sean rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, not my thing. Sorry.”

“And that’s fine. That’s your decision. I’m not trying to be a dictator, Sean. I only want what’s best for you. I want you to grow into the person you’re meant to become. All I ask is that you respect me, and you respect the rules I lay out for you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sean concedes. “It’s...an adjustment, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just want to preface this with: I haven't given up on this story, this fandom, or on writing in general. However, due to things happening in my personal life and my own mental health, I've decided to take a hiatus from writing for a few weeks (starting the week of November 15, 2020). So there won't be any new chapters for a while, and (god I'm so sorry) the final chapter of the Halloween fic likely won't happen for quite some time. Thanks for understanding! I hope to be back soon refreshed and rested with newfound inspiration and energy. <3 Stay safe everyone.


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